I! 


LIBRARY 

UN1VE ••'«  TY  Of 
CALIPOI'r'JlA 
SAN  DIE6O 


PR. 


8")  5" 


Library 
•  of 
famous  Books  by  Famous  Authors 


The  Little 
Minister 


J/M/BARRIE 


Copyright,  1891  and  1895 
BY  UNITED  STATES  BOOK  COMPANY 


THE  LITTLE  MINISTER 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PACE 

I.— The  Love-Light I 

II. — Runs  Alongside  the  Making  of  a  Minister,        ...       7 

III.— The  Night-Watchers, 17 

IV. — First  Coming  of  the  Egyptian  Woman 30 

V. — A  Warlike  Chapter,  Culminating  in  the  Flouting  of  the 

Minister  by  the  Woman,    ......     42 

VI. — In  which  the  Soldiers  Meet  the  Amazons  of  Thrums,         .     50 
VII. — Has  the  Folly  of  Looking  into  a  Woman's  Eyes  by  Way 

of  Text 62 

VIII. — 3A.M. — Monstrous  Audacity  of  the  Woman,    .         .         .69 
IX. — The  Woman  Considered    in  Absence— Adventures  of   a 

Military  Cloak,          .......     79 

X. — First  Sermon  against  Women,  ......     89 

XI. — Tells   in   a   Whisper  of  Man's  Fall   during  the   Curling 

Season,     . .   100 

XII. — Tragedy  of  a  Mud  House no 

XIII. — Second  Coming  of  the  Egyptian  Woman,  .         .         .  113 

XIV. — The  Minister  Dances  to  the  Woman's  Piping,   .         .         ,   125 

XV. — The  Minister  Bewitched— Second  Sermon  against  Women,   135 

XVI. — Continued  Misbehavior  of  the  Egyptian  Woman.      .         .   143 

XVII. — Intrusion  of  Haggart  into  these  Pages  against  the  Author's 

Wish 151 


vi  Contents. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII. — Caddam — Love  Leading  to  a  Rupture.  «         .   i9i 

XIX. — Circumstances  Leading  to  the  First  Sermo«  in  Ap- 
proval of  Women,         .         .         .         .         .         ,   169 

XX. — End  of  the  State  of  Indecision,       ....   177 

XXI. — Night — Margaret — Flashing  of  a  Lantern,       .         .186 
XXII. — Lovers,     .........   196 

XXIII. — Contains  a  Birth,  Which  is  Suffic^snt  for  One  Chapter,  205 
XXIV. — The    New  World,  and   the   Women   who  may  not 

Dwell  therein ail 

XXV. — Beginning  of  the  Twenty-four  Hours,     .         .         .  217 

XXVI.— Scene  at  the  Spittal 225 

XXVII. — First    Journey  of   the   Dominie   to   Thrums  during 

the  Twenty-four  Hours 232 

XXVIIL— The  Hill  before   Darkness   Fell— Scene  of  the  Im- 
pending Catastrophe,    ......  237 

XXIX. — Story  of  the  Egyptian,    ....  .  244 

XXX.— The  Meeting  for  Rain 252 

XXXI. — Various  Bodies  Converging  on  the  Hill,  .         .  259 

XXXII. — Leading  Swiftly  to  the  Appalling  Marriage,  .         .  268 

XXXIII.— While  the  Ten  o'Clock  Bell  was  Ringing,      .         .  274 

XXXIV.— The  Great  Rain 281 

XXXV.— The  Glen  at  Break  of  Day 285 

XXXVI. — Story  of  the  Dominie 299 

i    XXXVII. — Second  Journey  of  the  Dominie  to   Thrums  during 

the  Twenty-four  Hours,        .....  308 
XXXVIII. — Thrums    during   the   Twenty-four   Hours — Defence 

of  the  Manse 315 

XXXIX.— How  Babbie  Spent  the  Night  of  August  Fourth,  .   324 
XL. — Babbie  and    Margaret — Defence  of  the  Manse  con- 
tinued,   33O 


Contents.  vii 

CHAPTER  «  Af!E 

XLI. — Rintoul    and    Babbie — Break-down    of   the    Defence  of 

the  Manse,          .         ...        •         .         .         .         .  337 
XLII. — Margaret,  the  Precentor,  and  God  between,  .         .  345 

XLIII.— Rain— Mist— The  Jaws 353 

XLIV. — End  of  the  Twenty-four  Hours, 363 

XLV.— Talk  of  a  Little  Maid  since  Grown  Tall,     .        .        ,369 


JAMES  MATTHEW  BARRIE. 

A  LITERARY  AND   BIOGRAPHICAL   PORTRAIT. 

JAMES  MATTHEW  BARRIE  was  born  at  Kirriemuir, 
Forfarshire,  on  May  9,  1860.  Kirriemuir,  as  soberly 
stated  by  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica,  is  a  "  borough  of 
barony  and  a  market  town  of  Forfarshire,  Scotland, 
beautifully  situated  on  an  eminence  above  the  glen 
through  which  the  Gairie  flows.  It  lies  about  five  miles 
northwest  of  Forfar,  and  about  sixty-two  miles  north 
of  Edinburgh.  The  special  industry  of  the  town  is  linen- 
weaving,  for  which  large  power-loom  factories  have 
recently  been  built. "  Mr.  Barrie  has  made  his  birth- 
place famous  as  Thrums,  after  hesitating  for  a  little 
between  that  name  and  Whins,  which  is  the  word  used 
in  the  earliest  Auld  Licht  sketches. 

Thrums  has  often  been  pictured  by  Mr.  Barrie,  the 
most  elaborate  description  being  probably  that  con- 
tained in  the  first  draft  of  "When  a  Man's  Single": 

"Thrums  is  but  a  handful  of  houses  jumbled  together, 
in  a  cup,  from  which  one  of  the  pieces  has  gone. 
Through  this  outlet  ran  the  Whunny,  that  turned  the. 
sawmill  wheel,  and  a  dusty  road  twisted  out  of  it  to 
the  south.  Fifty  years  ago,  when  every  other  room 
had  its  hand-loom,  and  thousands  of  weavers  lived  and 
died  Thoreaus  without  knowing  it,  the  cup  overflowed 
and  left  several  houses  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  The  skel- 
etons of  some  of  these  shivering  dwellings  still  stand, 
choked  in  an  overgrowth  of  weeds  and  currant-bushes, 
and  occasionally  one  is  occupied  by  some  needy  person, 
who  during  the  heavy  snowstorms,  takes  a  spade  inside 
with  him  at  nights  to  dig  himself  out  in  the  morning. 


x  5.  d&.  JSarrfe. 

Then  he  is  blown  down  the  hill  to  his  work.  There 
were  wintry  mornings  when  Thrums,  viewed  from  the 
top  of  the  ridge,  was  but  two  gaunt  church  steeples  and 
a  dozen  red  stone  walls  standing  out  of  a  snow-heap. 
Weavers  in  the  second  story  walked  out  of  their  windows 
instead  of  down  the  outside  stair  that  gave  them  &  pri- 
vate door,  and,  looking  about  them  for  the  quarry  that 
was  their  great  landmark,  fell  into  buried  hen-roosts, 
where  they  sat  motionless  till  they  saw  what  had  hap- 
pened to  them.  .  .  .  The  square  is  Thrums'  heart. 
From  it  a  road  to  the  north  climbs  straight  up  the  bowl, 
as  if  anxious  to  get  out  of  it.  When  most  of  the  houses 
near  this  thoroughfare  were  put  up,  it  had  not  struck 
the  builders  to  take  it  into  account,  and  many  houses 
were  only  approachable  by  straggling  paths  that  doubled 
round  little  gardens,  and  became  in  winter  tributaries 
of  the  Whunny.  There  were  houses  that  were  most 
easily  reached  by  scaling  dikes.  The  main  road  comes 
to  a  sudden  stop  at  the  rim  of  the  bowl  short  of  breath, 
or  frightened  to  cross  the  common  of  whin  and  broom 
that  bars  the  way  to  the  north,  with  toadstools  only  to 
show  that  this  lias  once  been  a  forest,  and  slippery  roots 
pressing  up  the  turf,  the  ribs  of  the  earth  showing. 
Over  this  common,  one  end  of  which,  lapping  into  the 
valley,  has  been  converted  into  an  overflow  cemetery, 
there  are  many  cart-tracks  that  in  combination  would 
be  a  road." 

Mr.  Barrie's  father  is  of  an  old  Kirriemuir  stock,  and 
a  member  of  the  South  Free  Church  there.  His  mother, 
nte  Ogilvy,  was  originally  an  Auld  Licht,  and  is  learned 
in  the  Auld  Licht  traditions.  Both  are  still  living. 
But  only  a  part  of  Mr.  Barrie's  boyhood  was  spent  in 
Kirriemuir.  At  an  early  age  he  went  to  Dumfries, 
where  his  brother  was  inspector  of  schools.  He  was  a 
pupil  in  the  Dumfries  Academy.  At  that  time  Thomas 
Carlyle  was  a  not  infrequent  visitor  to  the  town,  where 
his  sister,  Mrs.  Aitken,  and  his  friend,  the  venerable 
poet-editor,  Thomas  Aird,  were  then  living.  The  boy 
often  saw  Carlyle,  and  eagerly  heard  the  gossip  about 
his  sayings  and  doings. 


5.  flb.  ffiarde.  *i 

Carlyle  is,  we  believe,  the  only  author  by  whom  Mr. 
Barrie  thinks  he  has  been  influenced.  The  Carlyle 
fever  did  not  last  very  long,  but  was  acute  for  a  time. 
Me  fervently  defended  his  master  against  the  innumer- 
able critics  called  into  activity  by  Mr.  Froude's  biog- 
raphy. Apart  from  this,  Dumfries  seems  to  have  left 
no  very  definite  mark  on  his  mind.  The  only  one  of 
his  teachers  who  impressed  him  was  Dr.  Cranstoun,  the 
accomplished  translator  from  the  Latin  poets,  and  he 
rather  indirectly  than  directly.  In  the  Dumfries  papers 
Mr  Barrie  inaugurated  his  literary  career  by  contribu- 
ting accounts  of  cricket  matches  and  letters,  signed 
"Paterfamilias,"  urging  the  desirability  of  pupils  hav- 
ing longer  holidays.  He  was  the  idlest  of  schoolboys, 
and  seldom  opened  his  books  except  to  draw  pictures 
on  them.  But  he  was,  and  is,  an  enthusiast  in  outdoor 
games.  Dumfries  and  the  neighborhood  have  helped 
him  very  little  in  the  way  of  copy.  Gretna  Green  was 
near,  and  made  the  subject  of  an  article  in  the  English 
Illustrated  Magazine,  and  of  one,  and  possibly  more,  in 
the  St.  James 's  Gazette. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen,  Mr.  Barrie  entered  Edinburgh 
University.  His  brother  had  studied  in  Aberdeen  with 
another  famous  native  of  Kirriemuir,  Dr.  Alexander 
Whyte,  of  Free  St.  George's,  Edinburgh.  At  Aberdeen 
you  could  live  much  more  cheaply,  also  it  was  easier 
there  to  get  a  bursary,  enough  to  keep  soul  and  body 
together  till  an  income  could  be  earned.  The  strug- 
gles and  triumphs  of  Aberdeen  students  greatly  im- 
pressed Mr.  Barrie,  who  has  often  repeated  the  story 
thus  told  in  the  Nottingham  Journal: 

"  I  knew  three  undergraduates  who  lodged  together 
in  a  dreary  house  at  the  top  of  a  dreary  street,  two  of 
whom  used  to  study  until  two  in  the  morning,  while 
the  third  slept.  When  they  shut  up  their  books  they 
woke  number  three,  who  arose,  dressed,  and  studied 
till  breakfast  time.  Among  the  many  advantages  of 


xii  3.  /ft.  Carrie. 

this  arrangement,  the  chief  was  that,  as  they  were 
dreadfully  poor,  one  bed  did  for  the  three.  Two  of 
them  occupied  it  at  one  time,  and  the  third  at  another. 
Terrible  privations?  Frightful  destitution?  Not  a  bit 
of  it.  The  Millennium  was  in  those  days.  If  life  was 
at  the  top  of  a  hundred  steps,  if  students  occasionally 
died  of  hunger  and  hard  work  combined,  if  the  midnight 
oil  only  burned  to  show  a  ghastly  face  'weary  and  worn, ' 
if  lodgings  were  cheap  and  dirty,  and  dinners  few  and 
far  between,  life  was  still  real  and  earnest;  in  many 
cases  it  did  not  turn  out  an  empty  dream. " 

In  Edinburgh  University  the  storm  and  stress  are 
much  mitigated.  There,  we  understand,  graduates  re- 
ceive their  degrees  in  evening  dress,  a  condition  which, 
if  it  had  been  insisted  upon  twenty  years  ago  in  Aber- 
deen, would  have  debarred  ninety-nine  out  of  every 
hundred  M.A. 's.  Of  his  college  experience,  Mr.  Bar- 
rie  has  written  in  that  bright  little  volume,  "  An  Ed- 
inburgh Eleven. "  As  might  have  been  expected,  Mas- 
son  was  the  professor  who  sent  his  life  off  at  a  new 
angle.  He  came  to  Masson's  class  with  a  reverence  for 
literature  and  literary  men  which  the  professor  did 
nothing  to  lessen.  As  he  afterward  said,  "  There  are  men 
who  are  good  to  think  of,  and  as  a  rule  we  only  know 
them  by  their  books.  Something  of  our  pride  in  life 
would  go  with  their  fall.  To  have  one  such  professor  at 
a  time  is  the  most  a  university  can  hope  of  human 
•jature,  so  Edinburgh  need  not  expect  another  just  yet." 

In  the  English  Literature  class  Mr.  Barrietook  a  high 
place,  and  he  was  proxime  accessit  for  the  Vans  Dunlop 
scholarship  in  English  Literature.  He  was  also  inter- 
ested in  Professor  Campbell  Eraser's  class. 

For  the  rest,  Mr.  Barrie  was  a  quiet  and  fairly  indus- 
trious student,  passing  his  examinations  creditably, 
getting  through  many  novels,  and  on  the  whole  enjoy- 
ing life.  He  made  very  few  friends  in  his  student 
days.  The  most  intimate  of  these,  his  fellow-lodger, 
died  young. 


3v  flb.  Carrie. 
In  his  "  Edinburgh  Eleven,"  Mr.  Barrie  says: 

"  During  the  four  winters  another  and  I  were  in  Ed- 
inburgh we  never  entered  any  but  Free  churches.  This 
<3eems  to  have  been  less  on  account  of  a  scorn  for  other 
denominations  than  because  we  never  thought  of  them. 
We  felt  sorry  for  the  'men'  who  knew  no  better  than  to 
claim  to  be  on  the  side  of  Dr.  Macgregor.  Even  our 
Free  kirks  were  limited  to  two,  St.  George's  and  the 
Free  High.  After  all,  we  must  have  been  liberally 
minded  beyond  most  of  our  fellows,  for,  as  a  rule,  those 
who  frequented  one  of  these  churches  shook  their  heads 
at  the  other.  It  is  said  that  Dr.  Whyte  and  Dr.  Smith 
have  a  great  appreciation  of  each  other.  They,  too, 
are  liberally  minded. 

"  To  contrast  the  two  leading  Free  Church  ministers 
in  Edinburgh  as  they  struck  a  student  would  be  to  be- 
come a  boy  again.  The  one  is  always  ready  to  go  on 
fire,  and  the  other  is  sometimes  at  hand  with  a  jug  of 
cold  water.  Dr.  Smith  counts  a  hundred  before  he 
starts,  while  the  minister  of  Free  St.  George's  is  off  at 
once  on  a  gallop,  and  would  always  arrive  first  at  his 
destination  if  he  had  not  sometimes  to  turn  back.  He 
is  not  only  a  Gladstonian,  but  Gladstonian ;  his  enthu- 
siasm carries  him  on  as  steam  drives  the  engine.  Dr. 
Smith  being  a  critic,  with  a  faculty  of  satire,  what 
would  rouse  the  one  man  makes  the  other  smile." 

Of  Dr.  Whyte,  in  his  first  contribution  to  The  British 
Weekly  (which  has  not  been  republished),  Mr.  Barrie 
tells  us  that  the  inhabitants  of  Thrums  will  discuss  any 
topic  with  you,  from  the  ontology  of  being  to  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson's  style,  but  for  choice  give  them  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Whyte.  "  So  many  of  them  told  me  that  he 
was  born  there,  and  asked  if  I  had  the  privilege  of  his 
acquaintance,  since  they  heard  I  knew  Edinburgh,  that 
it  became  monotonous.  So  when  I  saw  that  any  of 
them  was  about  to  speak,  I  saved  him  the  trouble.  'I 
know  Dr.  Whyte  was  born  here,'  I  said,  'and  I  have 
the  privilege  of  his  acquaintance. ' '  Nothing  is  more 


xiv  $.  dfc.  Carrie. 

remarkable  about  Dr.  Whyte  than  his  warm  and  cath- 
olic literary  sympathies,  of  which  Robert  Louis  Steven- 
son and  many  others  could  speak.  None  of  them  cotild 
say  more  than  Mr.  Barrie  in  summing  up  his  fellow- 
townsman  and  former  pastor.  "  The  best  cure  for  dis- 
satisfaction with  one's  self  I  know  is  a  talk  with  the 
pastor  of  Free  St.  George's.  You  could  not  have  it 
without  feeling  when  you  came  away  that  you  were  an 
excellent  person  after  all.  If  I  were  a  minister  preach- 
ing a  sermon  on  Dr.  Whyte,  that  would  be  my  text." 
Mr.  Barrie  was  a  member  of  Dr.  Whyte's  famous  Bible- 
class,  in  which  the  theology  of  Dante  and  other  deep 
things  are  taught,  and  to  every  member  of  which  the 
conductor  recently  presented  a  unique  volume  of  Dante 
notes  and  pictures. 

"Walter  Smith,  as  he  is  affectionately  called,  was  also 
a  favorite  with  the  student,  though  they  did  not  meet 
personally. 

"  There  is  a  sort  of  Freemasonry  among  the  men  who 
have  come  under  the  influence  of  Dr.  Smith.  It  seems 
to  have  steadied  them — to  have  given  them  wise  rules 
of  life  that  have  taken  the  noise  out  of  them,  and  left 
them  undemonstrative,  quiet,  determined.  You  will 
have  little  difficulty,  as  a  rule,  in  picking  out  Dr. 
Smith's  men,  whether  in  the  pulpit  or  in  private.  They 
have  his  mark,  as  the  Rugby  boys  were  marked  by  Dr. 
Arnold.  Even  in  speaking  of  him,  they  seldom  talk 
in  superlatives:  only  a  light  comes  into  their  eye,  and 
vou  realize  what  a  well-founded  reverence  is. " 

Another  Kirriemuir  man  occupied  at  that  time  a 
prominent  position  in  Edinburgh,  Mr.  W.  R.  Lawson. 
Mr.  Lawson  was  editor  of  the  now  defunct  Edinburgh 
Courant,  the  organ  of  the  Scottish  Tories.  The  Cou- 
rant,  so  far  as  news  went,  was  never  a  particularly  en- 
terprising and  successful  paper,  but  from  the  days  of 
Francis  Espinasse  and  James  Hannay  it  had  a  literary 
reputation,  which  did  not  diminish  in  Mr.  Lawson 's 


5.  A.  Carrie.  XT 

hands.  The  literary  impulse,  however,  had  hardly 
moved  Mr.  Barrie  then,  and  all  he  wrote  for  the  paper 
was  a  few  miscellaneous  criticisms.  The  bent  of  his 
mind,  however,  was  decidedly  to  literature. 

In  1882  he  graduated,  and  was  for  some  months  in 
Edinburgh  doing  nothing  in  particular.  In  Masson's 
class  he  had  made  a  special  study  of  the  Elizabethan 
Satirists,  and  he  thought  of  writing  a  book  on  that  sub- 
ject. In  the  mean  time  he  saw  an  advertisement  asking 
for  a  leader  writer  to  an  English  provincial  paper.  The 
salary  offered  was  three  guineas  a  week.  He  made  ap- 
plication for  this,  giving  references  to  Dr.  Masson  and 
Dr.  Whyte,  and  found  himself  in  February,  1883,  in- 
stalled as  leader  writer  to  the  Nottingham  Journal.  He 
was  not  editor,  the  work  of  arranging  the  paper  being 
in  other  hands;  but  he  was  allowed  to  write  as  much 
as  he  pleased,  and  practically  what  he  pleased.  Some 
of  his  Nottingham  experiences  are  described  more  or 
less  faithfully  in  "When  a  Man's  Single."  His  life  in 
that  town  was  very  solitary.  Outside  the  newspaper 
office  he  had  few  friends.  He  wrote  often  as  much  as 
four  columns  a  day,  and  withal  found  time  hang  heavy 
on  his  hands.  In  the  leaders,  which  are  very  serious 
and  largely  political,  it  is  difficult  to  recognize  his 
hand,  but  in  other  parts  of  the  paper  it  can  be  traced 
easily  enough.  He  wrote  an  article  every  Monday, 
signed  Hippomenes,  on  such  subjects  as  "  Pretty  Boys," 
"Martin  Marprelate,""Tom  Nash,"  "Mothers-in-law," 
"  Waiters, "  and  the  like.  He  also  contributed  a  col- 
umn of  miscellaneous  notes  every  Thursday  "  by  a  Mod- 
ern Peripatetic."  The  Nottingham  Journal  apparently 
did  not  receive  many  books  for  review,  but  the  maga- 
zines were  noticed  every  month,  and  occasionally  new 
novels  were  criticised.  Mr.  Barrie  expresses  more  than 
once  a  strong  admiration,  which  he  still  retains,  for 
the  American  novelist,  George  W.  Cable,  and  for  the 
essayist,  John  Burroughs.  Cable,  he  says,  "is  a  nov- 


xvi  5.  Ob.  jBarrfe. 

elist  who  for  pathos  and  delicate  character-studies  is 
not  to  be  matched  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  .  .  .  one 
who  in  the  age  of  scribbling  can  be  a  poet  in  prose,  who 
is  wise  and  epigrammatic  as  he  is  elevating  and  refined, 
and  whose  humor  is  not  less  than  his  poetry. "  The 
paper,  before  the  end  of  his  connection  with  it,  began  to 
take  on  a  literary  touch.  The  week  after  he  left  it  re- 
lapsed. Reviewing  the  Nineteenth  Century \  his  successor 
declared  that  an  article  by  Dr.  Jessopp  on  the  Black 
Death  "  contains  much  information  as  to  the  ravages  of 
a  disease  of  a  deadly  character,  derived  from  historical 
documents  of  a  reliable  character. "  It  was  a  very  old 
paper,  and  there  were  strange  eccentricities  in  the  make- 
up. The  paper  is  now,  we  believe,  amalgamated  with 
the  Nottingham  Express.  The  following  paragraphs  will 
give  an  idea  of  Mr.  Barrie's  early  style  in  journalism: 

"  The  infatuation  is  as  strong  as  ever,  and  there  seems 
little  hope  of  the  spell  being  broken.  On  the  most  re- 
liable authority,  we  know  that  the  coldest  night  of  the 
past  year  saw  132,076  young  men  in  the  open  air,  the 
majority  without  mufflers  round  their  miserable  necks 
or  greatcoats  on  their  ridiculous  bodies,  swearing  by 
the  bright  moon  over  their  heads  that  there  never  were 
or  could  be  such  angelic  persons  as  the  132,076  deceiv- 
ers who  accompanied  them." 

"  The  candid  critic  is  a  gentleman  of  whom  all  au- 
thors approve  when  he  praises  their  last  volume.  What 
I  wanted,  they  explain,  is  no  gush  of  praise,  as  from  a 
friend,  but  simply  a  calm,  just  review,  slating  my  work 
if  it  deserves  slating,  commending  it  if  it  deserves  com- 
mendation. Noble  fellows!  Then  when  the  critic, 
who  is  very  young  in  this  case,  observes  that  the  work 
bears  distinct  traces  of  genius,  is  Shakespearian  without 
Shakespeare's  coarseness,  reminds  one  of  Milton  in  his 
best  moments,  and  suggests  Tennyson  before  the  Poet 
Laureate's  hand  lost  its  cunning,  the  author  smiles 
gently  to  himself,  and  repeats  that  what  he  wanted  was 
an  honest  criticism,  and  he  thinks  he  has  got  it." 


.  3.  jflB.  Carrie. 

"  But  perhaps  the  candid  critic  is  not  young,  or  has 
been  eating  lobster  the  night  before  the  book  comes  in 
for  review,  what  then?     He  quotes  a  poetaster,  may- 
be- 
ll 'There  is  no  sacred  fire  in  it, 

Nor  much  of  homely  sense  and  shrewd, 
Imperfect  lines,  imperfect  rhymes, 
'  False  quantities,  mistaken  chimes, 

Yet  all  the  feeling  good. ' 

When  this  is  the  kind  of  criticism  offered,  the  indignant 
poet,  before  hanging  himself,  writes  a  letter  to  the 
editor  pointing  out  that  his  critic  is  a  scoundrel,  who, 
etc.,  etc.  In  short,  with  ninety-nine  out  of  every  hun~ 
dred  authors,  'simple  justice'  means  'indiscriminate 
praise. ' " 

"A  great  deal  of  nonsense  will  be  talked  over  the 
Queen's  book  for  the  next  nine  days.  It  is  said  that 
too  many  benefits  were  showered  upon  John  Brown, 
but  that  is  nonsense.  In  the  new  book  the  Queen  tells 
how  she  presented  her  attendant  on  one  occasion  with 
an  oxidized  silver  biscuit-box,  which  drew  tears  from 
his  eyes  and  the  exclamation  that  this  was  too  much. 
'God  knows  it  is  not,'  is  her  Majesty's  remark,  and  I 
can't  see  that  it  was." 


"A  public-meeting  friend  of  my  acquaintance  used 
to  attend  every  meeting  in  his  neighborhood  for  the 
purpose  of  calling  out,  'Hear,  hear,'  'Question,'  'Or- 
der,' and  'No,  no,'  and  always  turned  to  the  newspapers 
of  next  day  with  anxiety  to  see  if  his  share  in  the  pro- 
ceedings had  been  reported.  Where  they  were  attended 
to,  he  carefully  preserved  copies  of  the  newspapers,  and 
there  can  be  little  doubt  that  this  is  the  most  singular 
case  of  literary  vanity  known  since  the  introduction  of 
printing." 

"  The  scene  was  a  law  court  in  Paris,  and  an  eloquent 
young  advocate  was  pleading  the  cause  of  his  client  in 
a  way  that  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  many  of  his 


5.  jflB.  J5arrfe. 

hearers.  The  speech  was  recited  from  memory,  and 
the  pleader  had  taken  the  precaution  of  distributing 
printed  copies  among  the  reporters,  so  that  his  speech 
should  read  properly  in  the  morning's  newspapers. 
'And  now,'  he  exclaimed,  'I  feel  myself  wholly  un- 
worthy to  occupy  the  proud  position  I  hold  this  day. 
The  onerous  nature  of  the  task  makes  me  tremble  lest 
I  should  not  do  my  unhappy  client  justice,  and  I  cry, 
Would  to  God  that  an  abler  advocate  would  take  my 
place. '  Here  he  faltered,  put  his  handkerchief  to  his 
eyes,  and  seemed  overcome  with  emotion.  Unfortu- 
nately one  of  the  reporters  did  not  understand,  and  fear- 
ing that  the  lawyer  had  forgotten  what  came  next,  he 
hurriedly  looked  up  the  place  in  his  copy  of  the  speech 
to  prompt  him.  'But  the  tears  I  see  even  now,'  he  ex- 
claimed in  a  loud  whisper,  'in  the  eyes  of  my  unhappy 
client  nerve  me  to  the  task.'  Of  course  the  tables  were 
dissolved  in  laughter,  and  the  eloquent  pleader  found 
that  an  untimely  interruption  had  been  sufficient  to  rob 
him  of  a  reputation." 

"  People  with  blood  in  their  veins  no  doubt  look  upon 
a  reception  at  Court  as  a  much  more  serious  thing 
than  the  rabble,  who  have  to  be  content  with  water; 
but  even  after  that  is  taken  into  consideration,  it  does 
seem  a  trifle  ridiculous  that  the  possibility  of  ro)ral 
displeasure  should  be  sufficient  to  break  off  a  match. 
For  my  own  part,  I  am  very  ready  to  admit  that  Eng- 
land has  seldom  had  a  better  sovereign  than  the  pres- 
ent one,  but  as  for  there  being  any  honor  in  being  re- 
ceived by  her  at  Court,  I  don't  see  it.  If  I  saw  the 
whole  royal  family  coming  up  one  street  I  should 
glide  into  another,  and  mean  no  disrespect  to  them. " 

"The  glue  that  keeps  the  world  together  is  self-es- 
teem. It  is  terrible  to  think  of  what  might  happen 
did  Smith  sometimes  take  it  into  his  head  that  it  was 
not  worth  his  while  to  try  to  outdo  Robinson  or  Brown, 
and  life  would  still  be  worth  living  though  his  income 
were  fifty  pounds  per  annum  short  of  Jones'." 

"A  Scotchman  held  that  in  the  Scriptural  phrase, 


5.  flfo.  3Barrte.  six 

'There  were  gianfs  in  those  days,'  the  italicized  word  is 
a  misprint  for  'Grants. ' ' 

"  Mr.  Aldrich,  fair,  slender,  etc. ;  Mr.  H.  James, 
stout,  ruddy,  etc.  The  description  reads  like  a  slave- 
dealer's  catalogue." 

"  I  remember  being  invited,  with  a  batch  of  other 
under-graduates,  once  to  assist  at  a  banquet  given  by  a 
college  professor  to  his  private  lady  students.  When  I 
know  that  I  am  expected  to  talk  to  young  ladies,  I  pre- 
pare some  half-dozen  suitable  remarks  to  fire  off  at  in- 
tervals, and  I  was  on  the  point  of  commencing  number 
one,  which  was  no  doubt  of  a  frivolous  nature,  to  the 
genius  who  was  placed  by  my  side,  when  she  raised  her 
saucer  eyes,  and  asked  me  eagerly  whether  I  did  not 
think  that  Berkeley's  Immaterialism  was  founded  on 
anontological  misconception.  I  contrived  to  whisper 
that  such  had  always  been  my  secret  impression,  then 
quietly  fainted,  and  was  sent  home  to  be  bled." 

During  the  last  months  of  his  stay  in  Nottingham 
Mr.  Barrie  had  begun  to  send  articles  to  the  London 
papers.  The  first  of  these  was  published  by  Mr.  Stead, 
then  editing  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  and  told  how  penny 
dreadfuls  were  written. 

A  much  more  important  step  in  his  career  was  his  in- 
troduction to  Mr.  Greenwood  and  the  St.  James's  Gazette. 
To  Mr.  Greenwood  he  sent  an  article  on  "  An  Auld 
Licht  Community,"  the  germ  of  his  many  writings  on 
that  subject.  It  was  at  once  accepted  and  inserted  in 
the  St.  James's  Gazette  of  November  17,  1884.  We  take 
a  brief  extract  from  this  paper: 

"  Scotland  had  not  been  long  known  to  me  before  I 
reached  the  conclusion  that  the  score  of  back-bent, 
poverty-laden  natives  of  the  smaller  towns,  whose  last 
years  are  a  struggle  with  the  workhouse,  almost  invari- 
ably constitute  an  Auld  Licht  congregation  of  which 
A  "try  young  man  is  the  minister.  The  first  minister 


xx  J.  /&. 

ever  placed  in  my  Auld  Licht  kirk  accepted  the  call  'as 
from  the  mouth  of  hell.'  According  to  rumor,  the 
natives  had  a  weakness  for  hot  dinners  on  Sunday;  in- 
deed, the  backsliding  had  gone  so  far  that  only  a  boy 
minister  could  have  accomplished  the  work  of  regener- 
ation. The  little  girl  who  accompanied  him  was  his 
wife,  and  he  proved  himself  a  beardless  hero,  an  Auld 
Licht  General  Gordon.  Nothing  in  the  Auld  Licht 
kirk  which  I  used  to  know  so  well  affords  more  food 
for  reflection  than  the  fact  that  a  handful  of  paupers 
contrived  to  make  up  a  salary  for  a  minister. " 

Some  articles  on  other  subjects  sent  to  Mr.  Green- 
wood were  declined,  but  a  second  Auld  Licht  article 
was  promptly  accepted.  Mr.  Barrie  thereupon  wrote  to 
Mr.  Greenwood,  asking  whether  in  his  judgment  he 
should  come  to  London  and  venture  on  a  journalistic 
career.  Mr.  Greenwood  wrote  that  he  as  yet  did  not 
know  that  his  correspondent  could  do  any  good  work 
save  on  the  one  subject  of  the  Auld  Lichts,  and  that  he 
could  not  therefore  advise  him  to  come  up.  The  young 
journalist  took  his  own  way.  He  established  himself 
in  London  early  in  1885,  and  since  then  some  hundreds 
of  articles  by  him  have  appeared  in  the  Sf.  James's. 
He  wrote  on  all  kinds  of  subjects,  and  a  few  of  his  ar- 
ticles have  been  strung  together  in  "  My  Lady  Nico- 
tine " ;  many  remain  unreprinted.  Besides  articles,  he 
wrote  occasional  notes.  In  Mr.  Greenwood  he  found  a 
kind  and  wise  editor,  and  a  strong  friendship  has  ever 
since  subsisted  between  the  two.  To  Mr.  Greenwood's 
paper,  the  Anti- Jacobin,  Mr  Barrie  has  contributed  from 
the  outset. 

During  the  earlier  days  of  his  stay  in  London,  Mr. 
Barrie  came  to  know  Mr.  Alexander  Riach,  then  of  the 
Daily  Telegraph,  now  editor  of  the  Edinburgh  Evening 
Dispatch,  the  liveliest  of  evening  papers.  When  Mr. 
Riach  was  called  up  to  Scotland,  he  showed  his  charac- 
teristic discernment  in  enrolling  Mr.  Barrie  as  one  of 
his  contributors,  and  from  the  first  number  of  the  Even 


.  ffh.  SSarrfe. 


xxl 


ing  Dispatch  down  to  a  comparatively  recent  period  it 
has  contained  much  work  of  various  kinds  from  his  pen. 
They  appeared  on  Wednesdays  and  Saturdays.  Many 
others  form  a  rather  curious  comment  on  the  chief 
events  of  Edinbugh  history  during  these  years.  "  Prin- 
cipal Rainy 's  Opinion,"  for  instance,  is  an  interview 
by  telephone  with  Dr.  Rainy  in  Australia  at  the  time 
of  the  Dods  election.  "  The  Grand  Feature  of  the  Par- 
nell  Freedom"  reveals  why  Bailie  Walcot  is  elated. 
"  Being  (after  all)  only  a  man,  he  is  naturally  elated 
at  having  to  announce  that  more  persons  regret  their 
inability  to  be  present  on  this  interesting  occasion  than 
ever  regretted  their  inability  to  be  present  at  anything 
in  Edinburgh  before." 

Most  of  the  Dispatch  articles,  however,  have  more 
than  a  local  and  temporary  interest.  Here,  for  in- 
stance,  are  a  few : 

I  Look  So  Young. — If  I  were  to  go  back  to  the  place  of 
my  boyhood  and  find  that  it  had  forgotten  me,  I  would 


rut  <u/u  uctii  iDfo  - 


probably  fling  my  hat  into  the  air  for  joy.     I  have  no 

stich  luck.     Every  other  summer  or  so  I  return  to  B 

for  a  few  days,  and  there  are  very  few  persons  who 
know  that  I  have  ever  been  away.  My  greatest  trial 
in  B is  to  meet  the  two  Miss  F.  's,  two  old  maiden 


3.  /B.  JS.irtie. 

ladies,  who  do  not  seem  to  realize  that  the  years  glide 

on.     It  was  near  B that  I  was  at  school,  and  the 

Miss  F.  's  thought  I  was  still  there,  when  I  had  been  for 
years  at  Edinburgh  University.  Always,  when  we  met 
in  High  Street  of  B ,  they  asked  me  how  I  was  get- 
ting on  at  the  Grammar  School  this  year,  and  for  a  time 
1  explained  that  I  was  now  in  Edinburgh.  They  ex- 
pressed surprise  at  my  going  there  so  young,  at  which 
I  flushed;  and  then  the  next  time  we  met  they  asked 
.-.gain  how  I  was  liking  the  Grammar  School.  In  time 
I  gave  them  up;  and  when  they  inquired  how  I  was  get- 
ting on  at  the  Grammar.  School,  I  merely  said  that  I 
was  liking  it  very  well.  All  this  has  led  to  complica- 
tions, for  in  my  last  year  at  Edinburgh  the  Miss  F. 's 
discovered  that  I  really  was  at  the  University,  and  re- 
sented my  not  telling  them  that  I  was  going.  They 
have  always  felt  sure  that  this  last  year  was  my  first 
year  at  the  University,  and  so  they  puzzle  their  friends 
considerably  by  saying  that  I  took  my  degree  after  only 
being  at  Edinburgh  for  a  few  months.  How  I  did  it 
no  one  can  make  out;  but  I  have  been  told  that  at  the 
tea-parties  which  the  Miss  F.  's  give  the  affair  is  fre- 
quently discussed,  the  hostesses  going  into  full  details 
about  remembering  me  quite  well  as  a  schoolboy  pre- 
cisely ten  months  before  I  graduated.  The  general  im- 
pression, I  understand,  is  that  I  must  be  exceedingly 
clever;  indeed,  the  local  paper  had  a  paragraph  about 
my  being  the  only  case  on  record  of  a  student  who  had 
taken  his  M.A.  in  one  session. 


On  Running  after  a  Hat.  — Some  don't  run.  They  pre- 
tend to  smile  when  they  see  their  hat  borne  along  on  the 
breeze,  and  glance  at  the  laughing  faces  around  in  a 
way  implying,  "  Yes,  it  is  funny,  and  I  enjoy  the  joke 
although  the  hat  is  mine."  Nobody  believes  you,  but 
if  this  does  you  good  you  should  do  it.  You  don't  at- 
tempt to  catch  your  hat,  as  it  were,  on  the  wing.  You 
walk  after  it,  smiling,  as  if  you  liked  the  joke  the  more 
you  think  of  it,  and  confident  that  the  hat  will  come 
to  rest  presently.  You  are  not  the  sort  of  man  to  make 
a  fuss  over  a  hat.  You  won't  give  the  hat  the  satisfac- 
tion of  thinking  that  it  can  annoy  you.  Strange  though 


b.  JSarrfc. 


xuiii 


it  m«y  seem,  there  are  idiots  who  will  join  you  in  pur- 
suit of  the  hat.  One  will  hook  it  with  a  stick  and  al- 
most get  it,  only  not  quite.  Another  will  manage  to 
hit  it  hard  with  an  umbrella.  A  third  will  get  his  foot 
into  it  or  on  it.  This  does  not  improve  the  hat,  but  it 
shows  that  there  is  a  good  deal  of  the  milk  of  human 
kindness  flowing  in  the  street  as  well  as  water,  and  is 
perhaps  pleasant  to  think  of  afterward.  Several  times 
you  almost  have  the  hat  in  your  possession.  It  lies 
motionless  just  where  it  has  dropped  after  coming  in 


•-  nt  yiutb  uftiT  fiflmt 


contact  with  a  hansom.  Were  you  to  make  a  sudden 
rush  at  it  you  could  have  it,  but  we  have  agreed  that 
you  are  not  that  sort  of  man.  You  walk  forward,  stoop 

and .     One  reads  how  the  explorer  thinks  he  has 

shot  a  buffalo  dead,  and  advances  to  put  his  foot  proudly 
on  the  carcass,  how  the  buffalo  then  rises,  and  how  the 
explorer  then  rises  also.  I  have  never  seen  an  explorer 
running  after  his  hat  (though  I  should  like  to),  but  your 
experience  is  similar  to  his  with  the  buffalo.  As  your 
hand  approaches  the  hat,  the  latter  turns  over  like  a 
giant  refreshed,  and  waddles  out  of  your  reach.  Once 
more  your  hand  is  within  an  inch  of  it,  when  it  makes 
off  again.  There  are  ringing  cheers  from  the  audi- 
ence on  the  pavement,  some  of  them  meant  for  the  hat, 
.and  the  others  as  an  encouragement  to  you.  Before 


you  get  your  hat  you  have  begun  to  realize  what  deer- 
stalking is,  and  how  important  a  factor  is  the  wind. 

There  were  two  rival  shoemakers  who  tried  to  dis- 
cover for  themselves  how  to  become  rich,  and  each 
wanted  at  the  same  time  to  make  the  other  poor. 
Whenever  the  one  sent  out  handbills  in  glorification 
of  himself,  so  did  the  other,  and  in  this  way  they  suc- 
ceeded only  in  killing  each  other's  efforts — which  was 
always  something.  One  of  them  had  a  son  at  college, 
and  when  this  youth  came  home  for  his  vacations  his 
assistance  was  requested.  He  knew  a  thing  or  two,  and 
soon  his  father's  shop  had  a  card  conspicuous  in  its 
window,  saying, 

Mcns  est  Sana, 

which  the  learned  folk  said  was  Latin.  It  did  not  bring 
new  customers  to  the  shop  in  great  numbers,  but  it 
maddened  the  rival  shoemaker,  who  could  not  rest  un- 
til he  had  eclipsed  it.  Soon  his  window  bore  the  still 
prouder  device, 

Mens  and  W omens  est  Sana, 
which  must  have  been  a  pain  to  the  other  to  read. 

Although  many  of  Mr.  Barrie's  articles,  and  particu- 
larly the  Auld  Licht  papers,  had  attracted  attention, 
his  personality  was  as  yet  only  known  to  a  very  few. 
The  editor  of  The  British  Weekly,  which  had  then  been 
published  about  six  months,  was  one  day  reflecting 
gloomily  on  whether  it  was  possible  to  find  a  man  who 
could  write  in  a  lively  way  on  Scottish  ecclesiastical 
affairs.  He  took  up  the  Edinburgh  Evening  Dispatch, 
and  found  in  it  a  burlesque  account  of  the  Inverness 
Assembly  of  the  Free  Church.  He  lost  no  time  in  put- 
ting himself  in  communication  with  the  writer,  and  on 
July  i,  1887,  an  article  appeared  on  the  front  page  of 
The  British  Weekly,  "  The  Rev.  Dr.  Whyte.  By  an  Out- 
sider." It  was  signed  "Gavin  Ogilvy,"and  in  Scotland 


5.  It.  SJarrie. 

immediately  drew  attention  to  the  writer.  He  followed 
it  up  by  weekly  contributions  continued  during  a  long 
period.  Before  many  months  had  passed  his  name  and 
style  were  well  known  north  and  south.  This  was  ow- 
ing simply  to  the  fact  that  his  articles  had  for  the  first 
time  a  signature. 

In  the  winter  of  1887  Mr.  Barrie  issued  a  humorous 
little  shilling  book  called  "Better  Dead,"  the  germ  of 
\vhich  was  to  be  found  in  a  paper  published  in  the  .S/. 
James's  Gazette  for  April  21,  1885,  suggesting  the  form- 
ation of  a  society  for  getting  rid  of  people  who  would 
be  better  out  of  the  way,  and  proposing  Mr.  Mallock  as 
a  good  beginning. 

In  March,  1888,  a  much  more  important  book,  "  Auld 
Licht  Idylls,"  was  published  and  dedicated  to  Frederick 
Greenwood.  When  Mr.  Barrie  came  up  to  London  he 
had  letters  of  introduction  from  Professor  Masson  to  an 
eminent  publisher,  and  to  Mr.  John  Morley.  He  took 
his  "  Auld  Licht  Idylls"  to  the  publisher,  and  was  told 
that  although  they  were  pleasant  reading,  they  would 
never  be  successful  as  a  book.  Mr.  Morley,  then  editor 
of  Macmillan,  asked  him  to  send  a  list  of  subjects  on 
which  he  was  willing  to  write.  The  request  was  com- 
plied with,  but  the  subjects  were  returned  by  Mr.  Mor- 
ley with  the  singularly  uncharacteristic  comment  that 
they  were  not  sufficiently  up  to  date.  Mr.  Morley,  who 
has  since  read  with  great  admiration  all  Mr.  Barrie's 
works,  was  much  astonished  at  having  this  brought  to 
his  remembrance  the  other  day.  "  Auld  Licht  Idylls" 
soon  made  its  way. 

"When  a  Man's  Single"  was  published  in  September, 
1888,  dedicated  to  W.  Robertson  Nicoll.  The  story 
was  originally  published  in  The  British  Weekly,  but,  as 
his  manner  is,  Mr.  Barrie  made  great  changes  in  revis- 
ing it  for  publication.  It  was  well  received,  and  was 
pronounced  by  the  London  Daily  Neu's  as  "  perhaps  the 
best  single-volume  novel  of  the  year. "  It  is  not  at  all 


5.  fh. 

autobiographical,  though  it  gives  the  author's  impres- 
sions of  journalistic  life  in  Nottingham  and  London. 
Perhaps  the  best  parts  of  it  are  those  devoted  to  Thrums, 
of  which  George  Meredith  expressed  special  admiration. 

"A  Window  in  Thrums"  was  published  in  May,  1889. 
It  contained  articles  contributed  to  the  National  Ob- 
server, The  British  Weekly,  and  the  St.  James's  Gazette, 
together  with  new  matter.  Until  "  The  Little  Minis- 
ter"  was  published,  it  was  the  most  popular  of  the  au- 
thor's works,  and  it  is  hard  to  conceive  how  he  can  sur- 
pass certain  parts  of  it.  It  has  found  admirers  among 
all  classes. 

Of  his  journalistic  humor,  we  may  cite: 

The  Society  for  Providing  Materials  for  Volumes  of  Remi- 
niscences.— In  1890  Mr.  Barrie  contributed  to  the  Sep- 
tember number  of  the  Fortnightly  Review  an  article  en- 
titled Pro  £otw  Publico.  It  contained  the  circular  of 
the  above-named  society  (addressd  to  every  writing 
person  over  fifty  years  of  age),  with  specimen  reminis- 
cences and  prices.  Here  are  one  or  two  of  the  speci- 
mens: 

"  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  Carlyle  in  those  days,  and 
what  days  they  were!  If  in  a  genial  mood  (as  was  not 
always  the  case),  Carlyle  was  the  best  of  company,  and, 
strange  to  say,  I  never  think  of  Cheyne  Row  now  with- 
out hearing  his  loud  guffaws.  Ah,  sage,  gone  into  the 

night  since  the  days  when  you  and  I  and  F and 

K smoked  our  church-wardens  by  the  warm  fire- 
place, to  know  you  best  was  to  love  you  most!  He  who 
can  quote  you  as  a  cynic  forgets  the  hearty  laugh  that 
took  all  the  malice  from  your  vehement  utterances.  It 
was  not  a  laugh  at  the  expense  of  those  you  were  speak- 
ing of,  but  at  your  grand  honest  self.  That  guffaw 
was  the  blast  with  which  you  blew  over  the  fabrication 
that  your  imagination  had  built  riotously.  And  that 
word  last  reminds  me  of  Carlyle's  love  for  it.  'No, 
I'm  not  smoking,'  he  said  on  the  day  I  had  the  mem- 
orable pleasure  of  meeting  him  for  the  first  time. 


3.  /B.  JBarrle.  *xvii 

This  put  me  in  a  predicament,  for  there  was  a  pipe  in 
his  mouth  as  he  spoke,  and  he  was  puffing  vigorously. 
Nevertheless,  how  could  I  contradict  him  while  I  sat, 
awed,  under  the  shadow  of  his  personality?  Carlyle 
saw  my  embarrassment,  and,  like  a  true  gentleman,  at 
once  put  me  at  my  ease.  'Ay,  sir,  you're  a  grand  sam- 
ple of  the  complete  idiot,'  he  said,  in  the  winning 
phraseology  that  has  been  so  much  misunderstood;  'we 
dinna  have  the  marrows  of  you  in  Scotland,  I'm  think- 
ing. '  An  then  he  went  on  to  explain  that  in  his  young 
days  people  did  not  speak  of  smoking,  but  of  blasting 
— 'a  far  more  expressive  word."  He  then  launched 
into  a  magnificent  panegyric  of  tobacco,  declaring  that 
to  look  back  to  the  days  when  he  did  not  smoke  was  a 
humiliation.  '  Smoke  as  hard  as  a  man  may,'  he  said, 
dejectedly,  'he  can  never  make  up  for  those  lost  days!  ' 
Then  handing  me  my  hat  in  the  courtliest  manner,  he 
said,  'And  now,  young  man,  be  off  to  your  mother. 
Alwaj's  be  thoughtful  of  your  mother.  I  guarantee 
she  would  miss  you  more  than  I  would  do !'  Thus  ended 
my  first  meeting  with  Carlyle."  (30  |  -) 

"  I  used  to  meet  Matthew  Arnold  at  various  houses, 
even  at  Cheyne  Row,  though  I  question  whether  he 
and  Carlyle  sufficiently  appreciated  each  other.  I  had 

the  good  fortune  to  be  at  the  famous  dinner  at  B 

T in   Hampstead,    when  Arnold  and   Mr.   Ruskin 

met  for  the  first  time.  As  all  who  were  present  on  that 
occasion  will  remember,  thieves  broke  into  the  pantry 
while  we  were  at  dinner  and  made  off  with  some  silver 
spoons.  The  conversation  at  the  dinner  was  chiefly  on 
this  incident.  After  we  had  adjourned  to  the  drawing- 
room,  I  took  an  opportunity  of  asking  Mr.  Ruskin  how 
he  liked  Arnold.  'I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  him,' 
the  great  art  critic  answered,  excitedly.  'Mr.  Arnold 
never  took  his  eyes  off  me  during  dinner.  I  was  most 
uncomfortable.  Everybody  must  have  noticed  it.  It 
even  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  looking  at  me  suspi- 
ciously. Good  heavens!  is  it  possible  that  he  suspected 
me  of  complicity  with  the  thieves?'  As  it  happened 
Arnold  and  I  shared  a  hansom  home,  and  our  talk 
turned  on  Mr.  Ruskin.  'What  on  earth  made  RusJun 


5.  jflfo.  JSarrie. 

look  at  me  so  fixedly  during  the  dinner?'  Arnold  asked, 
hotly.  'I  never  looked  up  but  his  eyes  were  on  me. 
My  dear  sir,  he  glared  at  me  as  if  he  thought  I  had 
those  silver  spoons  in  my  pocket. '  "  (15  |  -) 

A  letter  soon  arrived  at  the  Fortnightly  office  from  a 
German  gentleman,  saying  that  he  had  been  gathering 
reminiscences  of  German  authors,  but  could  not  find 
enough  to  make  a  volume ;  he  therefore  desired  to  or- 
der from  the  society  as  much  as  would  complete  his 
book.  All  Mr.  Barrie's  editors  are  accustomed  to  get 
similar  epistles  from  readers  without  any  sense  of  hu- 
mor. Most  frequently  the  writers  conceive  that  there 
is  an  occult  and  improving  moral  hidden  away,  and 
insist  on  the  editor  declaring  the  same. 

"  Brought  Back  from  Elysium"  (Contemporary  Review, 
June,  1890)  describes  a  colloquy  held  by  five  eminent 
novelists,  a  Realist,  a  Romancist,  an  Elsmerian,  a  Styl- 
ist, and  an  American,  with  the  ghosts  of  Scott,  Fielding, 
Smollett,  Dickens,  and  Thackeray. 

In  reply  to  criticism,  Sir  Walter  says,  "  When  I  wrote 
'Ivanhoe, '  I  merely  wanted  to — to  tell  a  story." 

Realist. — "Still,  in  your  treatment  of  the  Templar, 
you  boldly  cast  off  the  chains  of  Romanticism  and  rise 
to  Realism." 

Elsmerian. — "To  do  you  justice,  the  Templar  seems 
to  have  had  religious  doubts." 

Stylist. — "I  once  wrote  a  little  paper  on  your  proba- 
ble reasons  for  using  the  word  'wand'  in  circumstances 
that  would,  perhaps,  have  justified  the  use  of  'reed.'  I 
have  not  published  it." 

American. — "  I  remember  reading 'Ivanhoe'  before  I 
knew  any  better,  but  even  then  I  thought  it  poor  stuff. 
There  is  no  analysis  worthy  of  the  name.  Why  did 
Rowena  drop  her  handkerchief?  Instead  of  telling  us 
that,  you  pranced  off  after  a  band  of  archers.  Do  you 
really  believe  that  intellectual  men  and  women  are  in- 
terested in  tournaments?" 

Sir  Waller. — "  You  have  grown  so  old  since  my  day." 


5.  Ob.  JCarcic. 

The  "  eminent  novelists"  are  equally  hard  upon  Dick- 
ens. 

Dickens.—"  I  am  a " 

Realist. — "It  is  true  that  you  wrote  about  the  poor, 
but  how  do  you  treat  them?  Are  they  all  women  of 
the  street  and  howling  ruffians?  Instead  of  dwelling 
forever  on  their  sodden  misery,  and  gloating  over  their 
immorality,  you  positively  regard  them  from  a  genial 
standpoint.  I  regret  to  have  to  say  it,  but  you  are  a 
PvOmancist." 

Romancist. — "No,  no,  Mr.  Dickens,  do  not  cross  to 
me.  You  wrote  with  a  purpose,  sir.  Remember  Dothe- 
boys  Hall." 

Elsmerian. — "A  novel  without  a  purpose  is  as  a  helm- 
less  ship. " 

Dickens  (aghast). — "Then  I  am  an  Elsmerian!" 

Elsmerian. — "Alas!  you  had  no  other  purpose  than  to 
add  to  the  material  comforts  of  the  people.  Not  one 
of  your  characters  was  troubled  with  religious  doubts. 
Where  does  Mr.  Pickwick  pause  to  ask  himself  why  he 
should  not  be  an  atheist?  You  cannot  answer.  In 
these  days  of  earnest  self-communion  we  find  Mr.  Pick- 
wick painfully  wanting.  How  can  readers  rise  from 
his  pages  in  distress  of  mind?  You  never  give  them  a 
chance.  Give  me  a  chair  and  a  man  with  doubts,  and 
I  will  give  you  a  novel !" 

In  October,  1888,  Mr.  Barrie  wrote  a  critical  article 
on  "  George  Meredith's  Novels"  for  the  Contemporary 
Review. 

"Were  I  to  pick  out  Mr.  Meredith's  triumphs  in 
phrasemaking,"  he  says,  "I  could  tattoo  the  Contempo- 
rary with  them — to  use  one  of  his  own  phrases.  He 
has  made  it  his  business  to  pin  them  to  his  pages  as  a 
collector  secures  butterflies.  He  succeeds,  I  believe, 
in  this  perilous  undertaking  as  often  as  he  fails.  He 
must  have  the  largest  vocabulary  of  any  living  man. 
It  is  told  of  a  great  newspaper  editor  that  he  had  a  con- 
tributor with  a  curious  craze  for  introducing  the  latest 
thing  in  felt  hats  into  his  articles.  A  hundred  times 
the  editor  struck  the  felt  hats  out,  and  a  time  came 
when  he  dreamed  nightly  that  his  contributor  had  out- 


5,  to.  Carrie. 


wilted  him.  Mr.  Meredith  seems  to  have  similar  flight- 
mares  about  the  commonplace,  and  undeniably  the 
phraseology  which  he  offers  as  a  substitute  strews  the 
reader's  path  with  stones." 


Another  of  Mr.  Barrie's  critical  articles  is  that  on 
Thomas  Hardy  (Contemporary  Review,  July,  1889),  from 
which  we  quote  a  sentence : 

"  There  is  a  public  that  compares  Mr.  Hardy  when 
he  is  writing  of  young  ladies  with  the  conjurer  who 
brings  strange  things  out  of  an  empty  box. 

"  There  are  clever  novelists  in  plenty  to  give  us  the 
sentimental  aspect  of  country  life,  and  others  can  show 
its  crueller  side.  Some  paint  its  sunsets,  some  never 
get  beyond  its  pig-troughs  or  its  alehouses;  many  can 
be  sarcastic  about  its  dulness.  But  Mr.  Hardy  is  the 
only  man  among  them  who  can  scour  the  village  and 
miss  nothing;  he  knows  the  common  as  Mr.  Jefferies 
knew  it.  but  he  knows  the  inhabitants  as  well  as  the 


5.  jflfc,  3Barr(e. 

common.  Among  English  novelists  of  to-day  he  is  the 
only  realist  to  be  considered,  so  far  as  life  in  country 
parts  is  concerned." 

Mr.  Barrie's  other  Contemporary  articles  are  "  Baring 
Gould"  (February,  1890)  and  "  Rudy ard  Kipling"  (Feb- 
urary,  1891). 

Here  it  may  be  proper  to  say  that  when  Mr.  Barrie 
commenced  writing  on  the  Auld  Lichts  he  had  no  con- 
ception that  they  would  afford  material  for  more  than 
an  article  or  two.  But  the  subject  grew  on  him.  His 
maternal  grandfather  was  a  main  prop  of  the  Auld  Licht 
kirk,  and  some  of  the  incidents  in  his  stories  are  prob- 
ably traditions.  But  there  are  no  actual  portraits  in  the 
books.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Jamieson,  the  well-known  author 
of  the  "Scottish  Dictionary,"  had  a  "call"  at  as  early 
an  age  as  the  "Little  Minister."  Dr.  Jamieson,  whose 
father  was  an  Anti-Burgher  minister  in  Glasgow,  en- 
tered college  in  his  ninth  year  and  the  divinity  hall  in 
his  fourteenth,  studying  four  sessions  at  the  first  and  six 
at  the  second.  At  the  age  of  twenty  he  was  licensed 
to  preach,  and  was  immediately  called  by  congrega- 
tions in  Dundee,  Perth,  and  Forfar.  He  was,  against 
his  own  will,  settled  in  Forfar  (the  Tilliedrum  of  the 
Idylls,  and  only  a  few  miles  distant  from  Thrums). 
The  fact  is  the  ministers  of  the  Auld  Licht  kirk  in  Kir- 
riemuir  almost  always  began  their  work  when  very 
young. 

"My  Lady  Nicotine,"  reprinted  from  the  St.  James's 
Gazette,  was  published  in  April,  1890,  and  although 
issued  later  than  "A  Window  in  Thrums,"  it  is  really 
in  point  of  time  almost  the  first  of  the  author's  books. 
The  main  object  in  publishing  it  was  to  assert  his  right 
in  the  St.  James's  articles,  which  have  been  attributed 
to  many  people.  He  has  thought  of  republishing  in 
the  same  way  his  St.  James's  "  Views  of  a  Schoolboy. " 

Mr.  Barrie  has  from  the  first  contributed  regularly  to 


J.  flb.  JBarrte. 

the  Scots  Observer,  now  the  National  Observer.  In  the 
Speaker  he  has  also  written  many  articles. 

In  January,  1891,  Mr.  Barrie  commenced  a  story  in 
Good  Words,  entitled  "The  Little  Minister,"  which,  in 
the  opinion  of  his  admirers,  is  his  greatest  book. 
When  published  in  book  form  it  was  received  with  one 
burst  of  acclamation,  and  has  proved  far  more  popular 
than  even  "A  Window  in  Thrums."  He  is  engaged  on 
another  Thrums  book  about  Haggart,  who  is  his  favor- 
ite among  his  creations.  It  will  be  almost  entirely 
new,  very  little  use  being  made  of  what  is  already  pub- 
lished. In  addition,  he  is  engaged  on  a  one-volume 
story  dealing  with  London  life.  He  feels  that  he  has 
not  exhausted  Thrums,  and  that  he  has  materials  there 
for  many  more  books.  But  there  are  signs  that  his 
mind  is  turning  to  London,  between  which  and  Thrums 
he  divides  his  time. 

The  three  illustrations  of  this  sketch  are  from  pho- 
tographs depicting  the  Kirk,  the  manse  (which  has  been 
modernized),  and  the  window  (near  his  own  home), 
which  suggested  to  Mr.  Barrie"  A  Window  in  Thrums. " 

The  etched  portrait  is  from  a  recent  excellent  pho- 
tograph. 


THE  LITTLE  MINISTER, 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    LOVE -LIGHT. 
4 

LONG  ago,  in  the  days  when  our  caged  blackbirds 
never  saw  a  king's  soldier  without  whistling  impudently, 
"  Come  ower  the  water  to  Charlie, "  a  minister  of  Thrums 
was  to  be  married,  but  something  happened,  and  he  re- 
mained a  bachelor.  Then,  when  he  was  old,  he  passed 
in  our  square  the  lady  who  was  to  have  been  his  wife, 
and  her  hair  was  white,  but  she,  too,  was  still  unmar- 
ried. The  meeting  had  only  one  witness,  a  weaver,  and 
he  said  solemnly  afterwards,  "  They  didna  speak,  but 
they  just  gave  one  another  a  look,  and  I  saw  rhe  love- 
light  in  their  een. "  No  more  is  remembered  of  these 
two,  no  being  now  living  ever  saw  them,  but  the  poetry 
that  was  in  the  soul  of  a  battered  weaver  makes  them 
human  to  us  for  ever. 

It  is  of  another  minister  I  am  to  tell,  but  only  to  those 
who  know  that  light  when  they  see  it.  I  am  not  bid- 
ding good-bye  to  many  readers,  for  though  it  is  true 
that  some  men,  of  whom  Lord  Rintoul  was  one,  live  to 
an  old  age  without  knowing  love,  few  of  us  can  have 
met  them,  and  of  women  so  incomplete  I  never  heard. 

Gavin  Dishart  was  barely  twenty-one  when  he  and 
his  mother  came  to  Thrums,  light-hearted  like  the  trav- 
eller who  knows  not  what  awaits  him  at  the  bend  of  thv 
i 


2  Ebe  Xttti*  /Rfnister. 

road.  It  was  the  time  of  year  when  the  ground  is  car. 
peted  beneath  the  firs  with  brown  needles,  when  split- 
nuts  patter  all  day  from  the  beech,  and  children  lay 
yellow  corn  on  the  dominie's  desk  to  remind  him  that 
now  they  are  needed  in  the  fields.  The  day  was  so 
silent  that  carts  could  be  heard  rumbling  a  mile  away. 
All  Thrums  was  out  in  its  wynds  and  closes — a  few  of 
the  weavers  still  in  knee-breeches — to  look  at  the  new 
Auld  Licht  minister.  I  was  there  too,  the  dominie  of 
Glen  Quharity,  which  is  four  miles  from  Thrums;  and 
heavy  was  my  heart  as  I  stood  afar  off  so  that  Gavin's 
mother  might  not  have  the  pain  of  seeing  me.  I  was 
the  only  one  in  the  crowd  who  looked  at  her  more  than 
at  her  son. 

Eighteen  }Tears  had  passed  since  we  parted.  Already 
her  hair  had  lost  the  brightness  of  its  youth,  and  she 
seemed  to  me  smaller  and  more  fragile ;  and  the  face 
that  I  loved  when  I  was  a  hobbledehoy,  and  loved  when 
I  looked  once  more  upon  it  in  Thrums,  and  always  shall 
love  till  I  die,  was  soft  and  worn.  Margaret  was  an  old 
woman,  and  she  was  only  forty-three :  and  I  am  the  man 
who  made  her  old.  As  Gavin  put  his  eager  boyish  face 
out  at  the  carriage  window,  many  saw  that  he  was  hold- 
ing her  hand,  but  none  could  be  glad  at  the  sight  as  the 
dominie  was  glad,  looking  on  at  a  happiness  in  which 
he  dared  not  mingle.  Margaret  was  crying  because 
she  was  so  proud  of  her  boy.  Women  do  that.  Poor 
sons  to  be  proud  of,  good  mothers,  but  I  would  not  have 
you  dry  those  tears. 

When  the  little  minister  looked  out  at  the  carriage 
window,  many  of  the  people  drew  back  humbly,  but  a 
little  boy  in  a  red  frock  with  black  spots  pressed  forward 
and  offered  him  a  sticky  parly,  which  Gavin  accepted, 
though  not  without  a  tremor,  for  children  were  more 
terrible  to  him  then  than  bearded  men.  The  boy's 
mother,  trying  not  to  look  elated,  bore  him  away,  but 
her  face  said  that  he  was  made  for  life.  With  this  little 


XEbe  Xov>e*3Llgbt.  3 

incident  Gavin's  career  in  Thrums  began.  I  remem- 
bered it  suddenly  the  other  day  when  wading  across  the 
wynd  where  it  took  place.  Many  scenes  in  the  little 
minister's  life  come  back  to  me  in  this  way.  The  first 
time  I  ever  thought  of  writing  his  love  story  as  an  old 
man's  gift  to  a  little  maid  since  grown 'tall,  was  one 
night  while  I  sat  alone  in  the  school-house;  on  my 
knees  a  fiddle  that  has  been  my  only  living  companion 
since  I  sold  my  hens.  My  mind  had  drifted  back  to  the 
first  time  I  saw  Gavin  and  the  Egyptian  together,  and 
what  set  it  wandering  to  that  midnight  meeting  was 
my  garden  gate  shaking  in  the  wind.  At  a  gate  on  the 
hill  I  had  first  encountered  these  two.  It  rattled  in  his 
hand,  and  I  looked  up  and  saw  them,  and  neither  knew 
why  I  had  such  cause  to  start  at  the  sight.  Then  the 
gate  swung  to.  It  had  just  such  a  click  as  mine. 

These  two  figures  on  the  hill  are  more  real  to  me  than 
things  that  happened  yesterday,  but  I  do  not  know  that 
I  can  make  them  live  to  others.  A  ghost-show  used  to 
come  yearly  to  Thrums  on  the  merry  Muckle  Friday, 
in  which  the  illusion  was  contrived  by  hanging  a  glass 
between  the  onlookers  and  the  stage.  I  cannot  deny 
that  the  comings  and  goings  of  the  ghost  were  highly 
diverting,  yet  the  farmer  of  T'nowhead  only  laughed 
because  he  had  paid  his  money  at  the  hole  in  the  door 
like  the  rest  of  us.  T'nowhead  sat  at  the  end  of  a  form 
where  he  saw  round  the  glass  and  so  saw  no  ghost.  I 
fear  my  public  may  be  in  the  same  predicament.  I  see 
the  little  minister  as  he  was  at  one-and-twenty,  and  the 
little  girl  to  whom  this  story  is  to  belong  sees  him, 
though  the  things  I  have  to  tell  happened  before  she 
came  into  the  world.  But  there  are  reasons  why  she 
should  see ;  and  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  provide  the 
glass  for  others.  If  they  see  round  it,  they  will  neither 
laugh  nor  cry  with  Gavin  and  Babbie. 

When  Gavin  came  to  Thrums  he  was  as  I  am  now, 
for  the  pages  lay  before  him  on  which  he  was  to  write 


4  tfbe  iittle  /BMnwrer. 

his  life.  Yet  he  was  not  quite  as  I  am.  The  life  of 
every  man  is  a  diary  in  which  he  means  to  write  one 
story,  and  writes  another;  and  his  humblest  hour  is 
when  he  compares  the  volume  as  it  is  with  what  he 
vowed  to  make  it.  But  the  biographer  sees  the  last 
chapter  while  he  is  still  at  the  first,  and  I  have  only  to 
write  over  with  ink  what  Gavin  has  written  in  pencil. 

How  often  is  it  a  phanton  woman  who  draws  the  man 
from  the  way  he  meant  to  go?  So  was  man  created,  to 
hunger  for  the  ideal  that  is  above  himself,  until  one  day 
there  is  magic  in  the  air,  and  the  eyes  of  a  girl  rest  upon 
him.  He  does  not  know  that  it  is  he  himself  who 
crowned  her,  and  if  the  girl  is  as  pure  as  he,  their  love 
is  the  one  form  of  idolatry  that  is  not  quite  ignoble.  It 
is  the  joining  of  two  souls  on  their  way  to  God.  But  if 
the  woman  be  bad,  the  test  of  the  man  is  when  he 
wakens  from  his  dream.  The  nobler  his  ideal,  the 
further  will  he  have  been  hurried  down  the  wrong  way, 
for  those  who  only  run  after  little  things  will  not  go 
far.  His  love  may  now  sink  into  passion,  perhaps  only 
to  stain  its  wings  and  rise  again,  perhaps  to  drown. 

Babbie,  what  shall  I  say  of  you  who  make  me  write 
these  things?  I  am  not  your  judge.  Shall  we  not 
laugh  at  the  student  who  chafes  when  between  him  and 
his  book  comes  the  song  of  the  thrushes,  with  whom,  on 
the  mad  night  you  danced  into  Gavin's  life,  you  had 
more  in  common  than  with  Auld  Licht  ministers?  The 
gladness  of  living  was  in  your  step,  your  voice  was 
melody,  and  he  was  wondering  what  love  might  be. 

You  were  the  daughter  of  a  summer  night,  born 
where  all  the  birds  are  free,  and  the  moon  christened 
you  with  her  soft  light  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  man.  Not 
our  little  minister  alone  was  stricken  by  you  into  his 
second  childhood.  To  look  upon  you  was  to  rejoice  that 
so  fair  a  thing  could  be;  to  think  of  you  is  still  to  be 
young.  Even  those  who  called  you  a  little  devil,  of 


Cbe  £o\?e*3Ltgbt.  5 

whom  I  have  been  one,  admitted  that  in  the  end  you 
had  a  soul,  though  not  that  you  had  been  born  with  one. 
They  said  you  stole  it,  and  so  made  a  woman  of  your- 
self. But  again  I  say  I  am  not  your  judge,  and  when 
I  picture  you  as  Gavin  saw  you  first,  a  bare-legged  f 
witch  dancing  up  Windyghoul,  rowan  berries  in  your 
black  hair,  and  on  your  finger  a  jewel  the  little  minister 
could  not  have  bought  with  five  years  of  toil,  the  shad- 
ows on  my  pages  lift,  and  I  cannot  wonder  that  Gavin 
loved  you. 

Often  I  say  to  myself  that  this  is  to  be  Gavin's  story, 
not  mine.  Yet  must  it  be  mine  too,  in  a  manner,  and 
of  myself  I  shall  sometimes  have  to  speak;  not  will- 
ingly, for  it  is  time  my  little  tragedy  had  died  of  old 
age.  I  have  kept  it  to  myself  so  long  that  now  I  would 
stand  at  its  grave  alone.  It  is  true  that  when  I  heard 
who  was  to  be  the  new  minister  I  hoped  for  a  day  that 
the  life  broken  in  Harvie  might  be  mended  in  Thrums, 
but  two  minutes'  talk  with  Gavin  showed  me  that  Mar- 
garet had  kept  from  him  the  secret  which  was  hers  and 
mine,  and  so  knocked  the  bottom  out  of  my  vain  hopes. 
I  did  not  blame  her  then,  nor  do  I  blame  her  now,  nor 
shall  anyone  who  blames  her  ever  be  called  friend  by 
me;  but  it  was  bitter  to  look  at  the  white  manse  among 
the  trees  and  know  that  I  must  never  enter  it.  For 
Margaret's  sake  I  had  to  keep  aloof,  yet  this  new  trial 
came  upon  me  like  our  parting  at  Harvie.  I  thought 
that  in  those  eighteen  years  my  passions  had  burned 
like  a  ship  till  they  sank,  but  I  suffered  again  as  on  that 
awful  night  when  Adam  Dishart  came  back,  nearly 
killing  Margaret  and  tearing  up  all  my  ambitions  by 
the  root  in  a  single  hour.  I  waited  in  Thrums  until  I 
had  looked  again  on  Margaret,  who  thought  me  dead, 
and  Gavin,  who  had  never  heard  of  me,  and  then  I 
trudged  back  to  the  school-house.  Something  I  heard 
of  them  from  time  to  time  during  the  winter — for  in  the 


6  Sbe  Xittle  Minister. 

gossip  of  Thrums  I  was  well  posted — but  much  of  what 
is  to  be  told  here  I  only  learned  afterwards  from  those 
who  knew  it  best.  Gavin  heard  of  me  at  times  as  the 
dominie  in  the  glen  who  had  ceased  to  attend  the  Auld 
Licht  kirk,  and  Margaret  did  not  even  hear  of  me.  It 
was  all  I  could  do  for  them. 


CHAPTER    II. 

RUNS  ALONGSIDE  THE  MAKING   OF  A   MINISTER. 

ON  the  east  coast  of  Scotland,  hidden,  as  if  in  a 
quarry,  at  the  foot  of  cliffs  that  may  one  .day  fall  for- 
ward, is  a  village  called  Harvie.  So  has  it  shrunk  since 
the  day  wlv"  I  skuiKed  from  it  that  I  hear  of  a  trav- 
eller's asWiiig  laleiy  at  one  of  its  doors  how  far  he  was 
from  a  village;  yet  Harvie  throve  once  and  was  cele- 
brated even  in  distant  Thrums  for  its  fish.  Most  of  our 
weavers  would  have  thought  it  as  unnatural  not  to  buy 
harvies  in  the  square  on  the  Muckle  Friday,  as  to  let 
Saturday  night  pass  without  laying  in  a  sufficient  stock 
of  halfpennies  to  go  round  the  family  twice. 

Gavin  was  born  in  Harvie,  but  left  it  at  such  an  early 
age  that  he  could  only  recall  thatched  houses  with  nets 
drying  on  the  roofs,  and  a  sandy  shore  in  which  coarse 
grass  grew.  In  the  picture  he  could  not  pick  out  the 
house  of  his  birth,  though  he  might  have  been  able  to 
go  to  it  had  he  ever  returned  to  the  village.  Soon  he 
learned  that  his  mother  did  not  care  to  speak  of  Harvie, 
and  perhaps  he  thought  that  she  had  forgotten  it  too, 
all  save  one  scene  to  which  his  memory  still  guided 
him.  When  his  mind  wandered  to  Harvie,  Gavin  saw 
the  door  of  his  home  open  and  a  fisherman  enter,  who 
scratched  his  head  and  then  said,  "  Your  man's  drowned, 
missis."  Gavin  seemed  to  see  many  women  crying, 
and  his  mother  staring  at  them  with  a  face  suddenly 
painted  white,  and  next  to  hear  a  voice  that*  was  his 
own  saying,  "Never  mind,  mother;  I'll  be  a  man  to 
you  now,  and  I'll  need  breeks  for  the  burial."  But 


Ube  Xittle  Minister. 

Adam  required  no  funeral,  for  his  body  lay  deep  in  the 
sea. 

Gavin  thought  that  this  was  the  tragedy  of  his 
mother's  life,  and  the  most  memorable  event  of  his  own 
childhood.  But  it  was  neither.  When  Margaret,  even 
after  she  came  to  Thrums,  thought  of  Harvie,  it  was 
not  at  Adam's  death  she  shuddered,  but  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  me. 

It  would  ill  become  me  to  take  a  late  revenge  on 
Adam  Dishart  now  by  saying  what  is  not  true  of  him. 
Though  he  died  a  fisherman  he  was  a  sailor  for  a  great 
part  of  his  life,  and  doubtless  his  recklessness  was 
washed  into  him  on  the  high  seas,  where  in  his  time 
men  made  a  crony  of  death,  and  drank  merrily  over 
dodging  it  for  another  night.  To  me  his  roars  of  laugh- 
ter without  cause  were  as  repellent  as  a  boy's  drum ; 
yet  many  faces  that  were  long  in  my  company  bright- 
ened at  his  coming,  and  women,  with  whom,  despite  my 
yearning,  I  was  in  no  wise  a  favorite,  ran  to  their  doors 
to  listen  to  him  as  readily  as  to  the  bell-man.  Children 
scurried  from  him  if  his  mood  was  savage,  but  to  him 
at  all  other  times,  while  me  they  merely  disregarded. 
There  was  always  a  smell  of  the  sea  about  him.  He 
had  a  rolling  gait,  unless  he  was  drunk,  when  he  walked 
very  straight,  and  before  both  sexes  he  boasted  that 
any  woman  would  take  him  for  his  beard  alone.  Of 
this  beard  he  took  prodigious  care,  though  otherwise 
thinking  little  of  his  appearance,  and  I  now  see  that  he 
understood  women  better  than  I  did,  who  had  neverthe- 
less reflected  much  about  them.  It  cannot  be  said  that 
he  was  vain,  for  though  he  thought  he  attracted  women 
strangely,  that,  I  maintain,  is  a  weakness  common  to 
all  men,  and  so  no  more  to  be  marvelled  at  than  a  stake 
in  a  fen«e.  Foreign  oaths  were  the  nails  with  which 
he  held  his  talk  together,  yet  I  doubt  not  they  were  a 
curiosity  gathered  at  sea,  like  his  chains  of  shells,  more 
for  his  own  pleasure  than  for  others'  pain.  His  friends 


/Baking  of  a  /Minister.  9 

gave  them  no  weight,  and  when  he  wanted  to  talk  em- 
phatically he  kept  them  back,  though  they  were  then 
as  troublesome  to  him  as  eggs  to  the  bird-nesting  boy 
who  has  to  speak  with  his  spoil  in  his  mouth. 

Adam  was  drowned  on  Gavin's  fourth  birthday,  a 
year  after  I  had  to  leave  Harvie.  He  was  blown  off 
his  smack  in  a  storm,  and  could  not  reach  the  rope  his 
partner  flung  him.  "It's  no  go,  lad,"  he  shouted;  "so 
long,  Jim,"  and  sank. 

A  month  afterwards  Margaret  sold  her  share  in  the 
smack,  which  was  all  Adam  left  her,  and  the  furniture 
of  the  house  was  rouped.  She  took  Gavin  to  Glasgow, 
where  her  only  brother  needed  a  housekeeper,  and  there 
mother  and  son  remained  until  Gavin  got  his  call  to 
Thrums.  During  those  seventeen  years  I  lost  knowl- 
edge of  them  as  completely  as  Margaret  had  lost  knowl- 
edge of  me.  On  hearing  of  Adam's  death  I  went  back 
to  Harvie  to  try  to  trace  her,  but  she  had  feared  this, 
and  so  told  no  one  where  she  was  going. 

According  to  Margaret,  Gavin's  genius  showed  itself 
while  he  was  still  a  child.  He  was  born  with  a  brow 
whose  nobility  impressed  her  from  the  first.  It  was  a 
minister's  brow,  and  though  Margaret  herself  was  no 
scholar,  being  as  slow  to  read  as  she  was  quick  at  turn- 
ing bannocks  on  the  girdle,  she  decided,  when  his  age 
was  still  counted  by  months,  that  the  ministry  had  need 
of  him.  In  those  days  the  first  question  asked  of  a  child 
was  not,  "  Tell  me  your  name, "  but  "  What  are  you  to 
be?"  and  one  child  in  every  family  replied,  "A  minis- 
ter. "  He  was  set  apart  for  the  Church  as  doggedly  as 
the  shilling  a  week  for  the  rent,  and  the  rule  held  good 
though  the  family  consisted  of  only  one  boy.  From  his 
earliest  days  Gavin  thought  he  had  been  fashioned  for 
the  ministry  as  certainly  as  a  spade  for  digging,  and  Mar- 
garet rejoiced  and  marvelled  thereat,  though  she  had 
made  her  own  puzzle.  An  enthusiastic  mother  may 
bend  her  son's  mind  as  she  chooses  if  she  begins  *  \ 


10  tlbe  Xittle  Minister. 

once;  nay,  she  may  do  stranger  things.  I  know  a 
mother  in  Thrums  who  loves  "features,"  and  had  a 
child  born  with  no  chin  to  speak  of.  The  neighbors 
expected  this  to  bring  her  to  the  dust,  but  it  only 
showed  what  a  mother  can  do.  In  a  few  months  that 
child  had  a  chin  with  the  best  of  them. 

Margaret's  brother  died,  but  she  remained  in  his 
single  room,  and,  ever  with  a  picture  of  her  son  in  a 
pulpit  to  repay  her,  contrived  to  keep  Gavin  at  school. 
Everything  a  woman's  fingers  can  do  Margaret's  did 
better  than  most,  and  among  the  wealthy  people  who 
employed  her — would  that  I  could  have  the  teaching  of 
the  sons  of  such  as  were  good  to  her  in  those  hard  days! 
— her  gentle  manner  was  spoken  of.  For  though  Mar- 
garet had  no  schooling,  she  was  a  lady  at  heart,  moving 
and  almost  speaking  as  one  even  in  Harvie,  where  they 
did  not  perhaps  like  her  the  better  for  it. 

At  sir  Gavin  hit  another  boy  hard  for  belonging  to 
the  Established  Church,  and  at  seven  he  could  not  lose 
himself  in  the  Shorter  Catechism.  His  mother  ex- 
pounded the  Scriptures  to  him  till  he  was  eight,  when 
he  began  to  expound  them  to  her.  By  this  time  he  was 
studying  the  practical  work  of  the  pulpit  as  enthusias- 
tically as  ever  medical  student  cut  off  a  leg.  From  a 
front  pew  in  the  gallery  Gavin  watched  the  minister's 
every  movement,  noting  that  the  first  thing  to  do  on 
ascending  the  ,pulpit  is  to  cover  your  face  with  your 
hands,  as  if  the  exalted  position  affected  you  like  a 
strong  light,  and  the  second  to  move  the  big  Bible 
slightly,  to  show  that  the  kirk  officer,  not  having  had  a 
university  education,  could  not  be  expected  to  know  the 
very  spot  on  which  it  ought  to  lie.  Gavin  saw  that  the 
minister  joined  in  the  singing  more  like  one  counte- 
nancing a  seemly  thing  than  because  he  needed  it  him- 
self, and  that  he  only  sang  a  mouthful  now  and  again 
after  the  congregation  was  in  full  pursuit  of  the  pre- 
centor. It  was  noteworthy  that  the  first  prayer  lasted 


£be  Aafting  of  a  Minister.  11 

longer  than  all  the  others,  and  that  to  read  the  intima- 
tions about  the  Bible-class  and  the  collection  elsewhere 
than  immediately  before  the  last  Psalm  would  have 
been  as  sacrilegious  as  to  insert  the  dedication  to  King 
James  at  the  end  of  Revelation.  Sitting  under  a  min- 
ister justly  honoured  in  his  day,  the  boy  was  often  some 
words  in  advance  of  him,  not  vainglorious  of  his  mem- 
ory, but  fervent,  eager,  and  regarding  the  preacher  as 
hardly  less  sacred  than  the  Book.  Gavin  was  encour- 
aged by  his  frightened  yet  admiring  mother  to  saw  the 
air  from  their  pew  as  the  minister  sawed  it  in  the  pulpit, 
and  two  benedictions  were  pronounced  twice  a  Sabbath 
in  that  church,  in  the  same  words,  the  same  manner,  and 
simultaneously. 

There  was  a  black  year  when  the  things  of  this 
world,  especially  its  pastimes,  took  such  a  grip  of  Gavin 
that  he  said  to  Margaret  he  would  rather  be  good  at  the 
high  jump  than  the  author  of  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress." 
That  year  passed,  and  Gavin  came  to  his  right  mind. 
One  afternoon  Margaret  was  at  home  making  a  glen- 
garry for  him  out  of  a  piece  of  carpet,  and  giving  it  a 
tartan  edging,  when  the  boy  bounded  in  from  school, 
crying,  "Come  quick,  mother,  and  you'll  see  him." 
Margaret  reached  the  door  in  time  to  see  a  street  musi- 
cian flying  from  Gavin  and  his  friends.  "  Did  you  take 
stock  of  him,  mother?"  the  boy  asked  when  he  reap- 
peared with  the  mark  of  a  muddy  stick  on  his  back. 
"He's  a  Papist! — a  sore  sight,  mother,  a  sore  sight. 
We  stoned  him  for  persecuting  the  noble  Martyrs." 

When  Gavin  was  twelve  he  went  to  the  university, 
and  also  got  a  place  in  a  shop  as  errand  boy.  He  used 
to  run  through  the  streets  between  his  work  and  his 
classes.  Potatoes  and  salt  fish,  which  could  then  be  got 
at  two  pence  the  pound  if  bought  by  the  half-hundred 
weight,  were  his  food.  There  was  not  always  a  good 
meal  for  two,  yet  when  Gavin  reached  home  at  night 
there  was  generally  something  ready  for  him,  and 


12  tfbe  Xtttlc  fl&fnteter. 

Margaret  had  supped  "hours  ago."  Gavin's  hunger 
urged  him  to  fall  to,  but  his  love  for  his  mother  made 
him  watchful. 

"  What  did  you  have  yourself,  mother?"  he  would  de- 
mand suspiciously. 

"  Oh,  I  had  a  fine  supper,  I  assure  you." 

"  What  had  you?" 

"  I  had  potatoes,  for  one  thing." 

"  And  dripping?" 

"You  may  be  sure." 

"  Mother,  you're  cheating  me.  The  dripping  hasn't 
been  touched  since  yesterday." 

"I  dinna — don't — care  for  dripping — no  much." 

Then  would  Gavin  stride  the  room  fiercely,  a  queer 
little  figure. 

"Do  you  think  I'll  stand  this,  mother?  Will  I  let 
myself  be  pampered  with  dripping  and  every  delicacy 
while  you  starve?" 

"Gavin,  I  really  dinna  care  for  dripping." 

"Then  I'll  give  up  my  classes,  and  we  can  have 
butter. " 

"I  assure  you  I'm  no  hungry.  It's  different  wi'  a 
growing  laddie. " 

"I'm  not  a  growing  laddie,"  Gavin  would  say,  bit- 
terly ;  "  but,  mother,  I  warn  you  that  not  another  bite 
passes  my  throat  till  I  see  you  eating  too." 

So  Margaret  had  to  take  her  seat  at  the  table,  and 
when  she  said  "I  can  eat  no  more,"  Gavin  retorted 
sternly,  "  Nor  will  I,  for  fine  I  see  through  you. " 

These  two  were  as  one  far  more  than  most  married 
people,  and,  just  as  Gavin  in  his  childhood  reflected 
his  mother,  she  now  reflected  him.  The  people  for 
whom  she  sewed  thought  it  was  contact  with  them  that 
had  rubbed  the  broad  Scotch  from  her  tongue,  but  she 
was  only  keeping  pace  with  Gavin.  When  she  was  ex- 
cited the  Harvie  words  came  back  to  her,  as  they  come 
back  to  me.  I  have  taught  the  English  language  all 


/fcafcino  of  a  /HMniater.  13 

my  life,  and  I  try  to  write  it,  but  everything  I  say  in 
this  book  I  first  think  to  myself  in  the  Doric.  This, 
too,  I  notice,  that  in  talking  to  myself  I  am  broader 
than  when  gossiping  with  the  farmers  of  the  glen,  who 
send  their  children  to  me  to  learn  English,  and  then 
jeer  at  them  if  they  say  "old  lights"  instead  of  "auld 
lichts." 

To  Margaret  it  was  happiness  to  sit  through  the  long 
evenings  sewing,  and  look  over  her  work  at  Gavin  as 
he  read  or  wrote  or  recited  to  himself  the  learning  of 
the  schools.  But  she  coughed  every  time  the  weather 
changed,  and  then  Gavin  would  start. 

"You  must  go  to  your  bed,  mother,"  he  would  say, 
tearing  himself  from  his  books ;  or  he  would  sit  beside 
her  and  talk  of  the  dream  that  was  common  to  both — a 
dream  of  a  manse  where  Margaret  was  mistress  and 
Gavin  was  called  the  minister.  Every  night  Gavin  was 
at  his  mother's  bedside  to  wind  her  shawl  round  her 
feet,  and  while  he  did  it  Margaret  smiled. 

"Mother,  this  is  the  chaff  pillow  you've  taken  out  of 
my  bed,  and  given  me  your  feather  one." 

"Gavin,  you  needna  change  them.  I  winna  have  the 
feather  pillow." 

"Do  you  dare  to  think  I'll  let  you  sleep  on  chaff? 
Put  up  your  head.  Now,  is  that  soft?" 

"It's  fine.  I  dinna  deny  but  what  I  sleep  better  on 
feathers..  Do  you  mind,  Gavin,  you  bought  this  pillow 
for  me  the  moment  you  got  your  bursary  money?" 

The  reserve  that  is  a  wall  between  many  of  the  Scot- 
tish poor  had  been  broken  down  by  these  two.  When 
he  saw  his  mother  sleeping  happily,  Gavin  went  back  to 
his  work.  To  save  the  expense  of  a  lamp,  he  would 
put  his  book  almost  beneath  the  dying  fire,  and,  taking 
the  place  of  the  fender,  read  till  he  was  shivering  with 
cold. 

"Gavin,  it  is  near  morning,  and  you  not  in  your  bed 
yet !  What  are  yon  thinking  about  so  hard?" 


14  ttbe  fcittte  /BSinteter. 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  was  wondering  if  the  time  would  eve* 
come  when  I  would  be  a  minister,  and  you  would  have 
an  egg  for  your  breakfast  every  morning. " 

So  the  years  passed,  and  soon  Gavin  would  be  a  min- 
ister. He  had  now  sermons  to  prepare,  and  every  one 
of  them  was  first  preached  to  Margaret.  How  solemn 
was  his  voice,  how  his  eyes  flashed,  how  stern  were  his 
admonitions. 

"  Gavin,  such  a  sermon  I  never  heard.  The  spirit  of 
God  is  on  you.  I'm  ashamed  you  should  have  me  for  a 
mother." 

"  God  grant,  mother,"  Gavin  said,  little  thinking  what 
was  soon  to  happen,  or  he  would  have  made  this  prayer 
on  his  knees,  "  that  you  may  never  be  ashamed  to  have 
me  for  a  son." 

"Ah,  mother,"  he  would  say  wistfully,  "it  is  not  a 
great  sermon,  but  do  you  think  I'm  preaching  Christ? 
That  is  what  I  try,  but  I'm  carried  away  and  forget  to 
watch  myself." 

"  The  Lord  has  you  by  the  hand,  Gavin ;  and  mind,  I 
dinna  say  that  because  you're  my  laddie." 

"  Yes,  you  do,  mother,  and  well  I  know  it,  and  yet  it 
does  me  good  to  hear  you." 

That  it  did  him  good  I,  who  would  fain  have  shared 
those  days  with  them,  am  very  sure.  The  praise  that 
comes  of  love  does  not  make  us  vain,  but  humble  rather. 
Knowing  what  we  are,  the  pride  that  shines  in  our 
mother's  eyes  as  she  looks  at  us  is  about  the  most  pa- 
thetic thing  a  man  has  to  face,  but  he  would  be  a  devil 
altogether  if  it  did  not  burn  some  of  the  sin  out  of 
him. 

Not  long  before  Gavin  preached  for  our  kirk  and  got 
his  call,  a  great  event  took  place  in  the  little  room  at 
Glasgow.  The  student  appeared  for  the  first  time  be- 
fore his  mother  in  his  ministerial  clothes.  He  wore  the 
black  silk  hat,  that  was  destined  to  become  a  terror  to 
evil-doers  in  Thrums,  and  I  dare  say  he  was  rather 


Cbe  .flbalunc)  cf  a  Minister.  15 

puffed  up  about  himself  that  day.  You  would  probably 
have  smiled  at  him. 

"  It's  a  pity  I'm  so  little,  mother,"  he  said  with  a  sigh. 

"You're  no  what  I  would  call  a  particularly  long 
man,"  Margaret  said,  "but  you're  just  the  height  I 
like." 

Then  Gavin  went  out  in  his  grandeur,  and  Margaret 
cried  for  an  hour.  She  was  thinking  of  me  as  well  as 
of  Gavin,  and  as  it  happens,  I  know  that  I  was  thinking 
at  the  same  time  of  her.  Gavin  kept  a  diary  in  those 
days,  which  I  have  seen,  and  by  comparing  it  with 
mine,  I  discovered  that  while  he  was  showing  himself 
to  his  mother  in  his  black  clothes,  I  was  on  my  way 
back  from  Tilliedrum,  where  I  had  gone  to  buy  a  sand- 
glass for  the  school.  The  one  I  bought  was  so  like  an- 
other Margaret  had  used  at  Harvie  that  it  set  me 
thinking  of  her  again  all  the  way  home.  This  is  a 
matter  hardly  worth  mentioning,  and  yet  it  interests 
me. 

Busy  days  followed  the  call  to  Thrums,  and  Gavin 
had  difficulty  in  forcing  himself  to  his  sermons  when 
there  was  always  something  more  to  tell  his  mother 
about  the  weaving  town  they  were  going  to,  or  about 
the  manse  or  the  furniture  that  had  been  transferred  to 
him  by  the  retiring  minister.  The  little  room  which 
had  become  so  familiar  that  it  seemed  one  of  a  family 
party  of  three  had  to  be  stripped,  and  many  of  its  con- 
tents were  sold.  Among  what  were  brought  to  Thrums 
was  a  little  exercise  book,  in  which  Margaret  had  tried, 
unknown  to  Gavin,  to  teach  herself  writing  and  gram- 
mar, that  she  might  be  less  unfit  for  a  manse.  He 
found  it  accidentally  one  day.  It  was  full  of  "  I  am, 
thou  art,  he  is,"  and  the  like,  written  many  times  in  a 
shaking  hand.  Gavin  put  his  arms  round  his  mother 
when  he  saw  what  she  had  been  doing.  The  exercise 
book  is  in  my  desk  now,  and  will  be  my  little  maid's 
when  I  die. 


16  Gbe  xtttle  AMntster. 

"Gavin,  Gavin,"  Margaret  said  many  cimes  in  those 
last  days  at  Glasgow,  "  to  think  it  has  all  come  true!" 

"  Let  the  last  word  you  say  in  the  house  be  a  prayer 
of  thankfulness,"  she  whispered  to  him  when  they  were 
taking  a  final  glance  at  the  old  home. 

In  the  bare  room  they  called  the  house,  the  little 
minister  and  his  mother  went  on  their  knees,  but,  as  it 
chanced,  their  last  word  there  was  not  addressed  to  God. 

"Gavin,"  Margaret  whispered  as  he  took  her  arm, 
"  do  you  think  this  bonnet  sets  me?" 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  NIGHT-WATCHERS. 

WHAT  first  struck  Margaret  in  Thrums  was  the  smell 
of  the  caddis.  The  town  smells  of  caddis  no  longer,  but 
whiffs  of  it  may  be  got  even  now  as  one  passes  the 
houses  of  the  old,  where  the  lay  still  swings  at  little 
windows  like  a  great  ghost  pendulum.  To  me  it  is  a 
homely  smell,  which  I  draw  in  with  a  great  breath,  but 
it  was  as  strange  to  Margaret  as  the  weavers  themselves, 
who,  in  their  colored  nightcaps  and  corduroys  streaked 
with  threads,  gazed  at  her  and  Gavin.  The  little  min- 
ister was  trying  to  look  severe  and  old,  but  twenty-one 
was  in  his  eye. 

"  Look,  mother,  at  that  white  house  with  the  green 
roof.  That  is  the  manse. " 

The  manse  stands  high,  with  a  sharp  eye  on  all  the 
town.  Every  back  window  in  the  Tenements  has  a 
glint  of  it,  and  so  the  back  of  the  Tenements  is  always 
better  behaved  than  the  front.  It  was  in  the  front  that 
Jamie  Don,  a  pitiful  bachelor  all  his  life  because  he 
thought  the  women  proposed,  kept  his  ferrets,  and  here, 
too,  Beattie  hanged  himself,  going  straight  to  the 
clothes-posts  for  another  rope  when  the  first  one  broke, 
such  was  his  determination.  In  the  front  Sanders  Gil- 
ruth  openly  boasted  (on  Don's  potato-pit)  that  by  hav- 
ing a  seat  in  two  churches  he  could  lie  in  bed  on  Sabbath 
and  get  the  credit  of  being  at  one  or  other.  (Gavin 
made  short  work  of  him  )  To  the  right-minded  the 
Auld  Licht  manse  was  as  a  family  Bible,  ever  lying 
open  before  them,  but  Beattie  spoke  for  more  than  him- 


18  Sbe  Xitue  Minister. 

self  when  he  said,  "  Dagone  that  manse!  I  nerver  gie  a 
swear  but  there  it  is  glowering  at  me." 

The  manse  looks  down  en  the  town  from  the  north- 
east, and  is  reached  from  the  road  that  leaves  Thrums 
behind  it  in  another  moment  by  a  wide,  straight  path, 
so  rough  that  to  carry  a  fraught  of  water  to  the  manse 
without  spilling  was  to  be  superlatively  good  at  one 
thing.  Packages  in  a  cart  it  set  leaping  like  trout  in  a 
fishing-creel.  Opposite  the  opening  of  the  garden  wall 
in  the  manse,  where  for  many  years  there  had  been  an 
intention  of  putting  up  a  gate,  were  two  big  stones  a 
yard  apart,  standing  ready  for  the  winter,  when  the 
path  was  often  a  rush  of  yellow  water,  and  this  the  only 
bridge  to  the  glebe  dyke,  down  which  the  minister 
walked  to  church. 

When  Margaret  entered  the  manse  on  Gavin's  arm,  it 
was  a  whitewashed  house  of  five  rooms,  with  a  garret 
in  which  the  minister  could  sleep  if  he  had  guests,  as 
during  the  Fast  week.  It  stood  with  its  garden  within 
high  walls,  and  the  roof  facing  southward  was  carpeted 
with  moss  that  shone  in  the  sun  in  a  dozen  shades  of 
green  and  yellow.  Three  firs  guarded  the  house  from 
west  winds,  but  blasts  from  the  north  often  tore 
down  the  steep  fields  and  skirled  through  the  manse, 
banging  all  its  doors  at  once.  A  beech,  growing  on 
the  east  side,  leant  over  the  roof  as  if  to  gossip  with 
the  well  in  the  courtyard.  The  garden  was  to  the 
south,  and  was  over  full  of  gooseberry  and  currant 
bushes.  It  contained  a  summer  seat,  where  strange 
things  were  soon  to  happen. 

Margaret  would  not  even  take  off  her  bonnet  until  she 
had  seen  through  the  manse  and  opened  all  the  presses. 
The  parlour  and  kitchen  were  downstairs,  and  of  the 
three  rooms  above,  the  study  was  so  small  that  Gavin's 
predecessor  could  touch  each  of  its  walls  without  shift- 
ing his  position.  Every  room  save  Margaret's  had  long- 
lidded  beds,  which  close  as  if  with  shutters,  but  hers 


3be  WflbtsCUatcbew.  19 

was  coff-fronted,  or  comparatively  open,  with  carving 
on  the  wood  like  the  ornamentation  of  coffins.  Where 
there  were  children  in  a  house  they  liked  to  slope  the 
boards  of  the  closed-in  bed  against  the  dresser,  and  play 
at  sliding  down  mountains  on  them. 

But  for  many  years  there  had  been  no  children  in  the 
manse.  He  in  whose  ways  Gavin  was  to  attempt  the 
heavy  task  of  walking  had  been  a  widower  three  mouths 
after  his  marriage,  a  man  narrow  when  he  came  to 
Thrums,  but  so  large-hearted  when  he  left  it  that  I, 
who  know  there  is  good  in  all  the  world  because  of  the 
lovable  souls  I  have  met  in  this  corner  of  it,  yet  cannot 
hope  that  many  are  as  near  to  God  as  he.  The  most 
gladsome  thing  in  the  world  is  that  few  of  us  fall  very 
low ;  the  saddest  that,  with  such  capabilities,  we  seldom 
rise  high.  Of  those  who  stand  perceptibly  above  their 
fellows  I  have  known  very  few ;  only  Mr.  Carfrae  and 
two  or  three  women. 

Gavin  only  saw  a  very  frail  old  minister  who  shook 
as  he  walked,  as  if  his  feet  were  striking  against  stones. 
He  was  to  depart  on  the  morrow  to  the  place  of  his 
birth,  but  he  came  to  the  manse  to  wish  his  successor 
God-speed.  Strangers  were  so  formidable  to  Margaret 
that  she  only  saw  him  from  her  window. 

"  May  you  never  lose  sight  of  God,  Mr.  Dishart,"  the 
old  man  said  in  the  parlour.  Then  he  added,  as  if  he 
had  asked  too  much,  "  May  you  never  turn  from  Him 
as  I  often  did  when  I  was  a  lad  like  you." 

As  this  aged  minister,  with  the  beautiful  face  that 
God  gives  to  all  who  love  Him  and  follow  His  com- 
mandments, spoke  of  his  youth,  he  looked  wistfully 
around  the  faded  parlour. 

"  It  is  like  a  dream,"  he  said.  "  The  first  time  I  en- 
tered this  room  the  thought  passed  through  me  that  I 
would  cut  down  that  cherry-tree,  because  it  kept  out  the 
light,  but,  you  see,  it  outlives  me.  I  grew  old  while 
looking  for  the  axe.  Only  yesterday  I  was  the  young 


20  Cbe  OLtttlc  Minister. 

minister,  Mr.  Dishart,  and  to-morrow  you  will  be  the 
old  one,  bidding  good-bye  to  your  successor." 

His  eyes  came  back  to  Gavin's  eager  face. 

"You  are  very  young,  Mr.  Dishart?" 

"  Nearly  twenty-one. " 

"  Twenty-one !  Ah,  my  dear  sir,  you  do  not  know 
how  pathetic  that  sounds  to  me.  Twenty-one !  We  are 
children  for  the  second  time  at  twenty-one,  and  again 
when  we  are  grey  and  put  all  our  burden  on  the  Lord. 
The  young  talk  generously  of  relieving  the  old  of  their 
burdens,  but  the  anxious  heart  is  to  the  old  when  they 
see  a  load  on  the  back  of  the  young.  Let  me  tell  you, 
Mr.  Dishart,  that  I  would  condone  many  things  in  one- 
and-twenty  now  that  I  dealt  hardly  with  at  middle  age. 
God  Himself,  I  think,  is  very  willing  to  give  one-and- 
twenty  a  second  chance. " 

"I  am  afraid,"  Gavin  said  anxiously,  "that  I  look 
even  younger. " 

"  I  think,"  Mr.  Carfrae  answered,  smiling,  "that  your 
heart  is  as  fresh  as  your  face ;  and  that  is  well.  The 
useless  men  are  those  who  never  change  with  the  years. 
Many  views  that  I  held  to  in  my  youth  and  long  after- 
wards are  a  pain  to  me  now,  and  I  am  carrying  away 
from  Thrums  memories  of  errors  into  which  I  fell  at 
every  stage  of  my  ministry.  When  you  are  older  you 
will  know  that  life  is  a  long  lesson  in  humility." 

He  paused. 

"  I  hope,"  he  said  nervously,  "  that  )rou  don't  sing  the 
Paraphrases?" 

Mr.  Carfrae  had  not  grown  out  of  all  his  prejudices, 
you  see;  indeed,  if  Gavin  had  been  less  bigoted  than 
he  on  this  question  they  might  have  parted  stiffly.  The 
old  minister  would  rather  have  remained  to  die  in  his 
pulpit  than  surrender  it  to  one  who  read  his  sermons. 
Others  may  blame  him  for  this,  but  I  must  say  here 
plainly  that  I  never  hear  a  minister  reading  without 
wishing  to  send  him  back  to  college. 


Gbe  *U0bt*'GGlatcber0.  21 

"I  cannot  deny,"  Mr.  Carfrae  said,  "that  I  broke 
down  more  than  once  to-day.  This  forenoon  I  was  in 
Tillyloss,  for  the  last  time,  and  it  so  happens  that  there 
is  scarcely  a  house  in  it  in  which  I  have  not  had  a  mar- 
riage or  prayed  over  a  coffin.  Ah,  sir,  these  are  the 
scenes  that  make  the  minister  more  than  all  his  ser- 
mons. You  must  join  the  family,  Mr.  Dishart,  or  you 
are  only  a  minister  once  a  week.  And  remember  this, 
if  your  call  is  from  above,  it  is  a  call  to  stay.  Many  such 
partings  in  a  lifetime  as  I  have  had  to-day  would  be  too 
heartrending." 

"And  yet,"  Gavin  said,  hesitatingly,  "they  told  me 
in  Glasgow  that  I  had  received  a  call  from  the  mouth  of 
hell." 

"Those  were  cruel  words,  but  they  only  mean  that 
people  who  are  seldom  more  than  a  day's  work  in  ad- 
vance of  want  sometimes  rise  in  arms  for  food.  Our 
weavers  are  passionately  religious,  and  so  independent 
that  they  dare  any  one  to  help  them,  but  if  their  wages 
were  lessened  they  could  not  live.  And  so  at  talk  of 
reduction  they  catch  fire.  Change  of  any  kind  alarms 
them,  and  though  they  call  themselves  Whigs,  they 
rose  a  few  years  ago  over  the  paving  of  the  streets  and 
stoned  the  workmen,  who  were  strangers,  out  of  the 
town." 

"And  though  you  may  have  thought  the  place  quiet 
to-day,  Mr.  Dishart,  there  was  an  ugly  outbreak  only 
two  months  ago,  when  the  weavers  turned  on  the  manu- 
facturers for  reducing  the  price  of  the  web,  made  a 
bonfire  of  some  of  their  doors,  and  terrified  one  of  them 
into  leaving  Thrums.  Under  the  command  of  some 
Chartists,  the  people  next  paraded  the  streets  to  the 
music  of  fife  and  drum,  and  six  policemen  who  drove 
up  from  Tilliedrum  in  a  light  cart  were  sent  back  tied 
to  the  seats." 

"No  one  has  been  punished?" 

"Not  yet,  but  nearly  two  years  ago  there  was  a  simi- 


23  Cbe  Tattle  Minister. 

lar  riot,  and  the  sheriff  took  no  action  for  months. 
Then  one  night  the  square  suddenly  filled  with  soldiers, 
and  the  ringleaders  were  seized  in  their  beds.  Mr.  Dish- 
art,  the  people  are  determined  not  to  be  caught  in  that 
way  again,  and  ever  since  the  rising  a  watch  has  been 
kept  by  night  on  every  road  that  leads  to  Thrums.  The 
signal  that  the  soldiers  are  coming  is  to  be  the  blowing 
of  a  horn.  If  you  ever  hear  that  horn,  I  implore  you 
to  hasten  to  the  square." 

"The  weavers  would  not  fight?" 

"  You  do  not  know  how  the  Chartists  have  fired  this 
part  of  the  country.  One  misty  day,  a  week  ago,  I  was 
on  the  hill ;  I  thought  I  had  it  to  myself,  when  suddenly 
I  heard  a  voice  cry  sharply,  'Shoulder  arms.'  I  could 
see  no  one,  and  after  a  moment  I  put  it  down  to  a  freak 
of  the  wind.  Then  all  at  once  the  mist  before  me 
blackened,  and  a  body  of  men  seemed  to  grow  out  of  it. 
They  were  not  shadows;  they  were  Thrums  weavers 
drilling,  with  pikes  in  their  hands. 

"They  broke  up,"  Mr.  Carfrae  continued,  after  a 
pause,  "  at  my  entreaty,  but  they  have  met  again  since 
then." 

"And  there  were  Auld  Lichts  among  them?"  Gavin 
asked.  "  I  should  have  thought  they  would  be  fright- 
ened at  our  precentor,  Lang  Tammas,  who  seems  to 
watch  for  backsliding  in  the  congregation  as  if  he  had 
pleasure  in  discovering  it." 

Gavin  spoke  with  feeling,  for  the  precentor  had 
already  put  him  through  his  catechism,  and  it  was  a 
stiff  ordeal. 

"The  precentor!"  said  Mr.  Carfrae.  "Why,  he  was 
one  of  them." 

The  old  minister,  once  so  brave  a  figure,  tottered  as 
he  rose  to  go,  and  reeled  in  a  dizziness  until  he  had 
walked  a  few  paces.  Gavin  went  with  him  to  the  foot 
of  the  manse  road ;  without  his  hat,  as  all  Thrums  knew 
before  bedtime. 


Cbe  Wgbt*'Klatcbers.  33 

"I  begin,"  Gavin  said,  as  they  were  parting,  "where 
you  leave  off,  and  my  prayer  is  that  I  may  walk  in  your 
ways. " 

"Ah,  Mr.  Dishart,"  the  white-haired  minister  said, 
with  a  sigh,  "  the  world  does  not  progress  so  quickly  as 
a  man  grows  old.  You  only  begin  where  I  began." 

He  left  Gavin,  and  then,  as  if  the  little  minister's 
last  words  had  hurt  him,  turned  and  solemnly  pointed 
his  staff  upward.  Such  men  are  the  strong  nails  that 
keep  the  world  together. 

The  twenty-one-years-old  minister  returned  to  the 
manse  somewhat  sadly,  but  when  he  saw  his  mother  at 
the  window  of  her  bed-room,  his  heart  leapt  at  the 
thought  that  she  was  with  him  and  he  had  eighty  pounds 
a  year.  Gaily  he  waved  both  his  hands  to  her,  and  she 
answered  with  a  smile,  and  then,  in  his  boyishness,  he 
jumped  over  a  gooseberry  bush.  Immediately  after- 
wards he  reddened  and  tried  to  look  venerable,  for 
while  in  the  air  he  had  caught  sight  of  two  women  and 
a  man  watching  him  from  the  dyke.  He  walked 
severely  to  the  door,  and,  again  forgetting  himself,  was 
bounding  upstairs  to  Margaret,  when  Jean,  the  servant, 
stood  scandalised  in  his  way. 

"I  don't  think  she  caught  me,"  was  Gavin's  reflec- 
tion, and  "The  Lord  preserve  *s!"  was  Jean's. 

Gavin  found  his  mother  wondering  how  one  should 
set  about  getting  a  cup  of  tea  in  a  house  that  had  a 
servant  in  it.  He  boldly  rang  the  bell,  and  the  willing 
Jean  answered  it  so  promptly  (in  a  rush  and  jump)  that 
Margaret  was  as  much  startled  as  Aladdin  the  first  time 
he  rubbed  his  lamp. 

Manse  servants  of  the  most  admired  kind  move  softly, 
as  if  constant  contact  with  a  minister  were  goloshes  to 
them;  but  Jean  was  new  and  raw,  only  having  got  her 
place  because  her  father  might  be  an  elder  any  day. 
She  had  already  conceived  a  romantic  affection  for  her 
master;  but  to  say  "sir"  to  him — as  she  thirsted  to  do 


24  Ube  Kittle 

— would  have  been  as  difficult  to  her  as  to  swallow 
oysters.  So  anxious  was  she  to  please  that  when  Gavin 
rang  she  fired  herself  at  the  bed-room,  but  bells  were 
novelties  to  her  as  well  as  to  Margaret,  and  she  cried, 
excitedly,  "What  is  *t?"  thinking  the  house  must  be  on 
fire. 

"There's  a  curran  folk  at  the  back  door,"  Jean  an- 
nounced later,  "and  their  respects  to  you,  and  would 
you  gie  them  some  water  out  o'  the  well?  It  has  been 
a  drouth  this  aucht  days,  and  the  pumps  is  locked. 
Na,"  she  said,  as  Gavin  made  a  too  liberal  offer,  "that 
would  toom  the  well,  and  there's  j imply  enough  for 
oursels.  I  should  tell  you,  too,  that  three  o'  them  is  no 
Auld  Lichts." 

"Let  that  make  no  difference,"  Gavin  said  grandly, 
but  Jean  changed  his  message  to :  "A bowlful  apiece  to 
Auld  Lichts;  all  other  denominations  one  cupful." 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Snecky  Hobart,  letting  down  the 
bucket,  "and  we'll  include  atheists  among  other  de- 
nominations." The  conversation  came  to  Gavin  and 
Margaret  through  the  kitchen  doorway. 

"Dinna  class  Jo  Cruickshanks  wi'  me,"  said  Sam'l 
Langlands  the  U.  P. 

"Na,  na,"  said  Cruickshanks  the  atheist,  "I'm  ower 
independent  to  be  religious.  I  dinna  gang  to  the  kirk 
to  cry,  'Oh,  Lord,  gie,  gie,  gie." 

"Take  tent  o'  yoursel',  my  man,"  said  Lang  Tarn- 
mas  sternly,  "  or  you'll  soon  be  whaur  you  would  neifer 
the  warld  for  a  cup  o'  that  cauld  water. " 

"  Maybe  you've  ower  keen  an  interest  in  the  devil, 
Tammas,"  retorted  the  atheist;  "but,  ony  way,  if  it's 
heaven  for  climate,  it's  hell  for  company. " 

"Lads,"  said  Snecky,  sitting  down  on  the  bucket, 
"we'll  send  Mr.  Dishart  to  Jo.  He'll  make  another 
Rob  Dow  o*  him. " 

"Speak  mair  reverently  o'  your  minister,"  said  the 
precentor.  "  He  has  the  gift." 


1Rtgbt=TKaatcber0.  25 

"  I  hinna  naturally  your  solemn  rasping  word,  Tam- 
mas,  but  in  the  heart  I  speak  in  all  reverence.  Lads, 
the  minister  has  a  word!  I  tell  you  he  prays  near  like 
one  giving  orders." 

"At  first,"  Snecky  continued,  "I  thocht  yon  lang 
candidate  was  the  earnestest  o*  them  a',  and  I  dinna 
deny  but  when  I  saw  him  wi'  his  head  bowed-like  in 
prayer  during  the  singing  I  says  to  mysel',  'Thou  art 
the  man. '  Ay,  but  Betsy  wraxed  up  her  head,  and  he 
wasna  praying.  He  was  combing  his  hair  wi'  his  fin- 
gers on  the  sly. " 

"You  ken  fine,  Sneck,"  said  Cruickshanks,  "that  you 
said,  'Thou  art  the  man'  to  ilka  ane  o'  them,  and  just 
voted  for  Mr.  Dishart  because  he  preached  hinmost. " 

"  I  didna  say  it  to  Mr.  Urquhart,  the  ane  that  preached 
second,"  Sneck  said.  "That  was  the  lad  that  gaed 
through  ither." 

"Ay,"  said  Susy  Tibbits,  nicknamed  by  Haggart 
"  the  Timidest  Woman"  because  she  once  said  she  was 
too  young  to  marry,  "  but  I  was  fell  sorry  for  him,  just 
being  over  anxious.  He  began  bonny,  flinging  himself, 
like  ane  inspired,  at  the  pulpit  door,  but  after  Hendry 
Munn  pointed  at  it  and  cried  out,  'Be  cautious,  the 
sneck's  loose,'  he  a'  gaed  to  bits.  What  a  coolness 
Hendry  has,  though  I  suppose  it  was  his  duty,  him 
being  kirk-officer." 

"We  didna  want  a  man,"  Lang  Tammas  said,  "that 
could  be  put  out  by  sic  a  sma'  thing  as  that.  Mr. 
Urquhart  was  in  sic  a  ravel  after  it  that  when  he  gies 
out  the  first  line  o'  the  hunder  and  nineteenth  psalm  for 
singing,  says  he,  'And  so  on  to  the  end.'  Ay,  that  fin- 
ished his  chance." 

"The  noblest  o'  them  to  look  at,"  said  Tibbie  Birse, 
"  was  that  ane  frae  Aberdeen,  him  that  had  sic  a  saft 
side  to  Jacob." 

"Ay,"  said  Snecky,  "and  I  speired  at  Dr.  McQueen 
if  I  should  vote  for  him.  'Looks  like  a  genius,  does 


26  Sbe  Xfttle  flMntstet. 

he?'  says  the  Doctor.  'Weel,  then,'  says  he,  'dinna 
vote  for  him,  for  my  experience  is  that  there's  no  folk 
sic  idiots  as  them  that  looks  like  geniuses.'" 

"Sal,"  Susy  said,  "it's  a  guid  thing  we've  settled, 
for  I  enjoyed  sitting  like  a  judge  upon  them  so  muckle 
that  I  sair  doubt  it  was  a  kind  o'  sport  to  me." 

"  It  was  no  sport  to  them,  Susy,  I'se  uphaud,  but  it  is 
a  blessing  we've  settled,  and  ondoubtedly  we've  got  the 
pick  o'  them.  The  only  thing  Mr.  Dishart  did  that 
made  me  oneasy  was  his  saying  the  word  Caesar  as  if  it 
began  wi'  a  k. " 

"He'll  startle  you  mair  afore  you're  done  wi'  him," 
the  atheist  said  maliciously.  "  I  ken  the  ways  o'  thae 
ministers  preaching  for  kirks.  Oh,  they're  cunning. 
You  was  a'  pleased  that  Mr.  Dishart  spoke  about  looms 
and  webs,  but,  lathies,  it  was  a  trick.  Ilka  ane  o'  thae 
young  ministers  has  a  sermon  about  looms  for  weaving 
congregations,  and  a  second  about  beating  swords  into 
ploughshares  for  country  places,  and  another  on  the 
great  catch  of  fishes  for  fishing  villages.  That's  their 
stock-in-trade;  and  just  you  wait  and  see  if  you  dinna 
get  the  ploughshares  and  the  fishes  afore  the  month's 
out.  A  minister  preaching  for  a  kirk  is  one  thing, 
but  a  minister  placed  in't  may  be  a  very  different 
berry. " 

"Joseph  Cruickshanks,"  cried  the  precentor,  passion 
ately,  "none  o'  your  rl d  blasphemy!" 

They  all  looked  at  Whamond,  and  he  dug  his  teeth 
into  his  lips  in  shame. 

"  Wha's  swearing  now?"  said  the  atheist 

But  Whamond  was  quick. 

"Matthew,  twelve  and  thirty-one,"  he  said. 

"Dagont,  Tammas,"  exclaimed  the  baffled  Cruick- 
shanks, "you're  aye  quoting  Scripture.  How  do  you 
no  quote  Feargus  O'Connor?" 

"Lads,"  said  Snecky.  "Jo  hasna  heard  Mr.  Dishart's 
sermons.  Ay,  we  get  it  scalding  when  he  comes  to  the 


1PU0bt=Tifllatcber0.  a? 

sermon.  I  canna  thole  a  minister  that  preaches  as  if 
heaven  was  round  the  corner." 

"  If  you're  hitting  at  our  minister,  Snecky,"  said 
James  Cochrane,  "let  me  tell  you  he's  a  better  man 
than  yours. " 

"  A  better  curler,  I  dare  say. " 

"A  better  prayer." 

"  Ay,  he  can  pray  for  a  black  frost  as  if  it  was  ane  o' 
the  Royal  Family.  I  ken  his  prayers,  'O  Lord,  let  it 
haud  for  anither  day,  and  keep  the  snaw  awa'.'  Will 
you  pretend,  Jeames,  that  Mr.  Duthie  could  make  ony- 
thing  o'  Rob  Dow?" 

"  I  admit  that  Rob's  awakening  was  an  extraordinary 
thing,  and  sufficient  to  gie  Mr.  Dishart  a  name.  But 
Mr.  Carfrae  was  baffled  wi'  Rob  too." 

"Jeames,  if  you  had  been  in  our  kirk  that  day  Mr. 
Dishart  preached  for't  you  would  be  wearying  the  now 
for  Sabbath,  to  be  back  in't  again.  As  you  ken,  that 
wicked  man  there,  Jo  Cruickshanks,  got  Rob  Dow, 
drucken,  cursing,  poaching  Rob  Dow,  to  come  to  the 
kirk  to  annoy  the  minister.  Ay,  he  hadna  been  at  that 
work  for  ten  minutes  when  Mr.  Dishart  stopped  in  his 
first  prayer  and  ga'e  Rob  a  look.  I  couldna  see  the 
look,  being  in  the  precentor's  box,  but  as  sure  as  death 
I  felt  it  boring  through  me.  Rob  is  hard  wood,  though, 
and  soon  he  was  at  his  tricks  again.  We  el,  the  minis- 
ter stopped  a  second  time  in  the  sermon,  and  so  awful 
was  the  silence  that  a  heap  o'  the  congregation  couldna 
keep  their  seats.  I  heard  Rob  breathing  quick  and 
strong.  Mr.  Dishart  had  his  arm  pointed  at  him  a'  this 
time,  and  at  last  he  says  sternly,  'Come  forward.'  Lis- 
ten, Joseph  Cruickshanks,  and  tremble.  Rob  gripped 
the  board  to  keep  himsel'  frae  obeying,  and  again  Mr. 
Dishart  says,  'Come  forward,'  and  syne  Rob  rose  shak- 
ing, and  tottered  to  the  pulpit  stair  like  a  man  suddenly 
shot  into  the  Day  of  Judgment.  'You  hulking  man  of 
sin, '  cries  Mr.  Dishart.  not  a  tick  fleid,  though  Rob's  as 


28  Cbe  Xittlc  d&tmeter. 

big  as  three  o'  him,  'sit  down  on  the  stair  and  attend  to 
me,  or  I'll  step  doun  frae  the  pulpit  and  run  you  out  of 
the  house  of  God. '" 

"And  since  that  day,"  said  Hobart,  "Rob  has  wor- 
shipped Mr.  Dishart  as  a  man  that  has  stepped  out  o* 
the  Bible.  When  the  carriage  passed  this  day  we  was 
discussing  the  minister,  and  Sam'l  Dickie  wasna  sure 
but  what  Mr.  Dishart  wore  his  hat  rather  far  back  on 
his  head.  You  should  have  seen  Rob.  'My  certie, ' 
he  roars,  'there's  the  shine  frae  Heaven  on  that  little 
minister's  face,  and  them  as  says  there's  no  has  me  to 
fecht.'" 

"Ay,  weel,"  said  the  U.  P.,  rising,  "we'll  see  how 
Rob  wears — and  how  your  minister  wears  too.  I 
wouldna  like  to  sit  in  a  kirk  whaur  they  daurna  sing  a 
paraphrase. " 

"The  Psalms  of  David,"  retorted  Whamond,  "mount 
straight  to  heaven,  but  your  paraphrases  sticks  to  the 
ceiling  o'  the  kirk." 

"You're  a  bigoted  set,  Tammas  Whamond,  but  I 
tell  you  this,  and  it's  my  last  words  to  you  the  nicht, 
the  day'll  come  when  you'll  hae  Mr.  Duthie,  ay,  and 
even  the  U.  P.  minister,  preaching  in  the  Auld  Licht 
kirk." 

"And  let  this  be  my  last  words  to  you,"  replied  the 
precentor,  furiously;  "that  rather  than  see  a  U.  P. 
preaching  in  the  Auld  Licht  kirk  I  would  burn  in  hell 
fire  for  ever!" 

This  gossip  increased  Gavin's  knowledge  of  the  grim 
men  with  whom  he  had  now  to  deal.  But  as  he  sat  be- 
side Margaret  after  she  had  gone  to  bed,  their  talk  was 
pleasant. 

"You  remember,  mother,"  Gavin  said,  "how  I  almost 
prayed  for  the  manse  that  was  to  give  you  an  egg  every 
morning.  I  have  been  telling  Jean  never  to  forget  the 

egg." 
"  Ah,  Gavin,  things  have  come  about  so  much  as  we 


29 

wanted  that  I'm  a  kind  o*  troubled.  It's  hardly  natu- 
ral, and  I  hope  nothing  terrible  is  to  happen  now." 

Gavin  arranged  her  pillows  as  she  liked  them,  and 
when  he  next  stole  into  the  room  in  his  stocking  soles 
to  look  at  her,  he  thought  she  was  asleep.  But  she  was 
not.  I  dare  say  she  saw  at  that  moment  Gavin  in  his 
first  frock,  and  Gavin  in  knickerbockers,  and  Gavin  ai 
he  used  to  walk  into  the  Glasgow  room  from  college,  all 
still  as  real  to  her  as  the  Gavin  who  had  a  kirk. 

The  little  minister  took  away  the  lamp  to  his  i  «rn 
room,  shaking  his  fist  at  himself  for  allowing  his 
mother's  door  to  creak.  He  pulled  up  his  blind.  The 
town  lay  as  still  as  salt.  But  a  steady  light  showed  in 
the  south,  and  on  pressing  his  face  against  the  window 
he  saw  another  in  the  west.  Mr.  Carfrae's  words  about 
the  night-watch  came  back  to  him.  Perhaps  it  had 
been  on  such  a  silent  night  as  this  that  the  soldiers 
marched  into  Thrums.  Would  they  come  again? 


CHAPTER    IV. 

FIRST  COMING   OF  THE  EGYPTIAN   WOMAN. 

A  LEARNED  man  says  in  a  book,  otherwise  beautiful 
with  truth,  that  villages  are  family  groups.  To  him 
Thrums  would  only  be  a  village,  though  town  is  the 
word  we  have  ever  used,  and  this  is  not  true  of  it. 
Doubtless  we  have  interests  in  common,  from  which  a 
place  so  near  (but  the  road  is  heavy)  as  Tilliedrum  is 
shut  out,  and  we  have  an  individuality  of  our  own  too, 
as  if,  like  our  red  houses,  we  came  from  a  quarry  tha^ 
supplies  no  other  place.  But  we  are  not  one  family. 
In  the  old  days,  those  of  us  who  were  of  the  Tenements 
seldom  wandered  to  the  Croft  head,  and  if  we  did  go 
there  we  saw  men  to  whom  we  could  not  always  give  a 
name.  To  flit  from  the  Tanage  brae  to  Haggart's  road 
was  to  change  one's  friends.  A  kirk-wynd  weaver 
might  kill  his  swine  and  Tillyloss  not  know  of  it  until 
boys  ran  westward  hitting  each  other  with  the  bladders. 
Only  the  voice  of  the  dulsemen  could  be  heard  all  over 
Thrums  at  once.  Thus  even  in  a  small  place  but  a  few 
outstanding  persons  are  known  to  everybody. 

In  eight  days  Gavin's  figure  was  more  familiar  in 
Thrums  than  many  that  had  grown  bent  in  it.  He  had 
already  been  twice  to  the  cemetery,  for  a  minister  only 
reaches  his  new  charge  in  time  to  attend  a  funeral. 
Though  short  of  stature  he  cast  a  great  shadow.  He 
was  so  full  of  his  duties,  Jean  said,  that  though  he  pulled 
to  the  door  as  he  left  the  manse,  he  had  passed  the  cur- 
rant bushes  before  it  snecked.  He  darted  through 
courts,  and  invented  ways  into  awkward  houses.  If 


Cbe 

you  did  not  look  up  quickly  he  was  round  the  corner. 
His  visiting  exhausted  him  only  less  than  his  zeal  in  the 
pulpit,  from  which,  according  to  report,  he  staggered 
damp  with  perspiration  to  the  vestry,  where  Hendry 
Munn  wrung  him  like  a  wet  cloth.  A  deaf  lady,  cele- 
brated for  giving  out  her  washing,  compelled  him  to 
hold  her  trumpet  until  she  had  peered  into  all  his  cran- 
nies, with  the  Shorter  Catechism  for  a  lantern.  Janet 
Dundas  told  him,  in  answer  to  his  knock,  that  she  could 
not  abide  him,  but  she  changed  her  mind  when  he  said 
her  garden  was  quite  a  show.  The  wives  who  expected 
a  visit  scrubbed  their  floors  for  him,  cleaned  out  their 
presses  for  him,  put  diamond  socks  on  their  bairns  foi 
him,  rubbed  their  hearthstones  blue  for  him,  and  even 
tidied  up  the  garret  for  him,  and  triumphed  over  the 
neighbours  whose  houses  he  passed  by.  For  Gavin 
blundered  occasionally  by  inadvertence,  as  when  he 
gav«  dear  old  Betty  Davie  occasion  to  say  bitterly — 

*'  Ou  ay,  you  can  sail  by  my  door  and  gang  to  Easie's, 
but  I'm  thinking  you  would  stop  at  mine  too  if  I  had  a 
brass  handle  on't." 

So  passed  the  first  four  weeks,  and  then  came  the 
fateful  night  of  the  seventeenth  of  October,  and  with  it 
the  strange  woman.  Family  worship  at  the  manse  was 
over  and  Gavin  was  talking  to  his  mother,  who  never 
crossed  the  threshold  save  to  go  to  church  (though  her 
activity  at  home  was  among  the  marvels  Jean  some- 
times slipped  down  to  the  Tenements  to  announce), 
when  Weary  world  the  policeman  came  to  the  door 
"  with  Rob  Dow's  compliments,  and  if  you're  no  wi' 
me  by  ten  o'clock  I'm  to  break  out  again."  Gavin 
knew  what  this  meant,  and  at  once  set  off  for  Rob's. 

"You'll  let  me  gang  a  bit  wi' you,"  the  policeman 
entreated,  "  for  till  Rob  sent  me  on  this  errand  not  a 
soul  has  spoken  to  me  the  day;  ay,  mony  a  ane  hae  I 
spoken  to,  but  not  a  man,  woman,  nor  bairn  would  fling 
me  a  word. " 


32  Cbe  Xittle  Minister. 

"I  often  meant  to  ask  you,"  Gavin  said  as  they  went 
along  the  Tenements,  which  smelled  at  that  hour  of 
roasted  potatoes,  "why  you  are  so  unpopular." 

"It's  because  I'm  police.  I'm  the  first  ane  that  has 
ever  been  in  Thrums,  and  the  very  folk  that  appointed 
me  at  a  crown  a  week  looks  upon  me  as  a  disgraced  man 
for  accepting.  It's  Gospel  that  my  ain  wife  is  short  wi' 
me  when  I've  on  my  uniform,  though  weel  she  kens 
that  I  would  rather  hae  stuck  to  the  loom  if  I  hadna 
ha'en  sic  a  queer  richt  leg.  Nobody  feels  the  shame  o' 
my  position  as  I  do  mysel',  but  this  is  a  town  without 
pity." 

"It  should  be  a  consolation  to  you  that  you  are  dis- 
charging useful  duties." 

"But  I'm  no.  I'm  doing  harm.  There's  Charles 
Dickson  says  that  the  very  sicht  o'  my  uniform  rouses 
his  dander  so  muckle  that  it  makes  him  break  windows, 
though  a  peaceably-disposed  man  till  I  was  appointed. 
And  what's  the  use  o'  their  haeing  a  policeman  when 
they  winna  come  to  the  lock-up  after  I  lay  hands  on 
them?" 

"Do  they  say  they  won't  come?" 

"Say?  Catch  them  saying  onything!  They  just  gie 
me  a  wap  into  the  gutters.  If  they  would  speak  I 
wouldna  complain,  for  I'm  nat'rally  the  sociablest  man  in 
Thrums." 

"Rob,  however,  had  spoken  to  you." 

"Because  he  had  need  o'  me.  That  was  ay  Rob's  way, 
converted  or  no  converted.  When  he  was  blind  drunk 
he  would  order  me  to  see  him  safe  hame,  but  would  he 
crack  wi'  me?  Na,  na." 

Wearyworld,  who  was  so  called  because  of  his  forlorn 
way  of  muttering,  "It's  a  weary  warld,  and  nobody 
bides  in't,"  as  he  went  his  melancholy  rounds,  sighed 
like  one  about  to  cry,  and  Gavin  changed  the  subject. 

"Is  the  watch  for  the  soldiers  still  kept  up?"  he  asked. 

"It  is,  but  the  watchers  winna  let  me  in  aside  them. 


Hbe  Egyptian.  38 

I'll  let  you  see  that  for  yoursel*  at  the  head  o*  tbe 
Roods,  for  they  watch  there  in  the  auld  windmill." 

Most  of  the  Thrums  lights  were  already  out,  and  that 
in  the  windmill  disappeared  as  footsteps  were  heard. 

"You're  desperate  characters,"  the  policeman  criec, 
but  got  no  answer.  He  changed  his  tactics. 

"A  fine  nicht  for  the  time  o'  year,"  he  cried.  No 
answer. 

"But  I  wouldna  wonder,"  he  shouted,  "though  we 
had  rain  afore  morning."  No  answer. 

"  Surely  you  could  gie  me  a  word  frae  ahint  the  door. 
You're  doing  an  onlawful  thing,  but  I  dinna  ken  wha 
you  are." 

"  You'll  swear  to  that?"  some  one  asked  gruffly. 

"  I  swear  to  it,  Peter. " 

Weary  world  tried  another  six  remarks  in  vain. 

"Ay,"  he  said  to  the  minister,  "that's  what  it  is  to 
be  an  onpopular  man.  And  now  I'll  hae  to  turn  back, 
for  the  very  anes  that  winna  let  me  join  them  would  be 
the  first  to  complain  if  I  gaed  out  o'  bounds." 

Gavin  found  Dow  at  New  Zealand,  a  hamlet  of  mud 
houses,  whose  tenants  could  be  seen  on  any  Sabbath 
morning  washing  themselves  in  the  burn  that  trickled 
hard  by.  Rob's  son,  Micah,  was  asleep  at  the  door,  but 
he  brightened  when  he  saw  who  was  shaking  him. 

"My  father  put  me  out,"  he  explained,  "because, 
he's  daft  for  the  drink,  and  was  fleid  he  would  curse 
me.  He  hasna  cursed  me,"  Micah  added,  proudly,  "  for 
an  aught  days  come  Sabbath.  Hearken  to  him  at  his 
loom.  He  daurna  take  his  feet  off  the  treadles  for  fear 
o'  running  straucht  to  the  drink." 

Gavin  went  in.  The  loom,  and  two  stools,  the  one 
four-footed  and  the  other  a  buffet,  were  Rob's  most 
conspicuous  furniture.  A  shaving-strap  hung  on  the 
wall.  The  fire  was  out,  but  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  charred 
at  one  end,  showed  how  he  heated  his  house.  He  made 
a  fire  of  peat,  and  on  it  placed  one  end  of  a  tree  trunk 
3 


84  Cbe  Xtttte  Minister. 

that  might  be  six  feet  long.  As  the  tree  burned  away 
it  was  pushed  further  into  the  fireplace,  and  a  roaring 
fire  could  always  be  got  by  kicking  pieces  of  the  smoul- 
dering wood  and  blowing  them  into  flame  with  the  bel- 
lows. When  Rob  saw  the  minister  he  groaned  relief 
and  left  his  loom.  He  had  been  weaving,  his  teeth 
clenched,  his  eyes  on  fire,  for  seven  hours. 

"I  wasna  fleid,"  little  Mi  call  said  to  the  neighbours 
afterwards,  "  to  gang  in  wi'  the  minister.  He's  a  fine 
man  that.  He  didna  ca'  my  father  names.  Na,  he 
said,  'You're  a  brave  fellow,  Rob,'  and  he  took  my 
father's  hand,  he  did.  My  father  was  shaking  after  his 
fecht  wi'  the  drink,  and,  says  he,  'Mr.  Dishart, '  he 
says,  'if  you'll  let  me  break  out  nows  and  nans,  I  could 
bide  straucht  atween  times,  but  I  canna  keep  sober  if  I 
hinna  a  drink  to  look  forrit  to. '  Ay,  my  father  prigged 
sair  to  get  one  foil  day  in  the  month,  and  he  said,  'Syne 
if  I  die  sudden,  there's  thirty  chances  to  one  that  I  gang 
to  heaven,  so  it's  worth  risking.'  But  Mr.  Dishart 
wouldna  hear  o't,  and  he  cries,  'No,  by  God,'  he  cries, 
'we'll  wrestle  wi'  the  devil  till  we  throttle  him,'  and 
down  him  and  my  father  gaed  on  their  knees. 

"  The  minister  prayed  a  lang  time  till  my  father  said 
his  hunger  for  the  drink  was  gone,  'but',  he  says,  'it 
"swells  up  in  me  o'  a  sudden  aye,  and  it  may  be  back 
afore  you're  hame.'  'Then  come  to  me  at  once,'  says 
Mr.  Dishart;  but  my  father  says,  'Na,  for  it  would 
haul  me  into  the  public-house  as  if  it  had  me  at  the  end 
o'  a  rope,  but  I'll  send  the  laddie.' 

"You  saw  my  father  crying  the  minister  back?  It 
was  to  gie  him  twa  pound,  and,  says  my  father,  'God 
helping  me,'  he  says,  Til  droon  mysel  in  the  dam 
rather  than  let  the  drink  master  me,  but  in  case  it 
should  get  haud  o'  me  and  I  should  die  drunk,  it  would 
be  a  michty  gratification  to  me  to  ken  that  you  had  the 
siller  to  bury  me  respectable  without  ony  help  frae  the 
poor's  rates. '  The  minister  wasna  for  taking  it  at  first, 


but  he  took  it  when  he  saw  how  earnest  my  father  was. 
Ay,  he's  a  noble  man.  After  he  gaed  awa  my  father 
made  me  learn  the  names  o'  the  apostles  frae  Luke 
sixth,  and  he  says  to  me,  'Miss  out  Bartholomew,'  he 
says,  'for  he  did  little,  and  put  Gavin  Dishart  in  his 
place."' 

Feeling  as  old  as  he  sometimes  tried  to  look,  Gavin 
turned  homeward.  Margaret  was  already  listening  for 
him.  You  may  be  sure  she  knew  his  step.  I  think 
our  steps  vary  as  much  as  the  human  face.  My  book- 
shelves were  made  by  a  blind  man  who  could  identify 
by  their  steps  nearly  all  who  passed  his  window.  Yet 
he  has  admitted  to  me  that  he  could  not  tell  wherein  my 
steps  differed  from  others;  and  this  I  believe,  though 
rejecting  his  boast  that  he  could  distinguish  a  minister's 
step  from  a  doctor's,  and  even  tell  to  which  denomina- 
tion the  minister  belonged. 

I  have  sometimes  asked  myself  what  would  have  been 
Gavin's  future  had  he  gone  straight  home  that  night 
from  Dow's.  He  would  doubtless  have  seen  the  Egyp- 
tian before  morning  broke,  but  she  would  not  have  come 
upon  him  like  a  witch.  There  are,  I  dare  say,  many 
lovers  who  would  never  have  been  drawn  to  each  other 
had  they  met  for  the  first  time,  as,  say,  they  met  the 
second  time.  But  such  dreaming  is  to  no  purpose. 
Gavin  met  Sanders  Webster,  the  mole-catcher,  and  was 
persuaded  by  him  to  go  home  by  Caddam  Wood. 

Gavin  took  the  path  to  Caddam,  because  Sanders  told 
him  the  Wild  Lindsays  were  there,  a  gypsy  family  that 
threatened  the  farmers  by  day  and  danced  devilishly, 
it  was  said,  at  night.  The  little  minister  knew  them 
by  repute  as  a  race  of  giants,  and  that  not  many  persons 
would  have  cared  to  face  them  alone  at  midnight;  but 
he  was  feeling  as  one  wound  up  to  heavy  duties,  and 
meant  to  admonish  them  severely. 

Sanders,  an  old  man  who  lived  with  his  sister  Nanny 
on  the  edge  of  the  wood,  went  with  him,  and  for  a 


36  Sbe  Xfttlc  /SBinistcr. 

time  both  were  silent.  But  Sanders  had  something  to 
say. 

"  Was  you  ever  at  the  Spittal,  Mr.  Dishart?"  he  asked, 

"Lord  Rintoul's  house  at  the  top  of  Glen  Quharity? 
No." 

"  Hae  you  ever  looked  on  a  lord?" 

"No." 

"  Or  on  an  auld  lord's  young  leddyship?     I  have." 

"What  is  she?" 

"You  surely  ken  that  Rintoul's  auld,  and  is  to  be 
married  on  a  young  leddyship.  She's  no'  a  leddyship 
yet,  but  they're  to  be  married  soon,  so  I  may  say  I've 
seen  a  leddyship.  Ay,  an  impressive  sicht.  It  was 
yestreen. " 

"  Is  there  a  great  difference  in  their  ages?" 

"  As  muckle  as  atween  auld  Peter  Spens  and  his  wife, 
wha  was  saxteen  when  he  was  saxty,  and  she  was  play- 
ing at  dumps  in  the  street  when  her  man  was  waiting 
for  her  to  make  his  porridge.  Ay,  sic  a  differ  doesna 
suit  wi'  common  folk,  but  of  course  earls  can  please 
themsels.  Rintoul's  so  fond  o'  the  leddyship  'at  is  to 
be,  that  when  she  was  at  the  school  in  Edinbury  he 
wrote  to  her  ilka  day.  Kaytherine  Crummie  telled  me 
that,  and  she  says  aince  you're  used  to  it,  writing  let- 
ters is  as  easy  as  skinning  moles.  I  dinna  ken  what 
they  can  write  sic  a  heap  about,  but  I  daur  say  he  gies 
her  his  views  on  the  Chartist  agitation  and  the  potato 
disease,  and  she'll  write  back  about  the  romantic  sichts 
o*  Edinbury  and  the  sermons  o'  the  grand  preachers  she 
hears.  Sal,  though,  thae  grand  folk  has  no  religion  to 
speak  o',  for  they're  a'  English  kirk.  You're  no'  speir- 
ing  what  her  leddyship  said  to  me?" 

"  What  did  she  say?" 

"Weel,  you  see,  there  was  a  dancing  ball  on,  and 
Kaytherine  Crummie  took  me  to  a  window  whaur  I 
could  stand  on  a  flower-pot  and  watch  the  critturs  whirl- 
ing round  in  the  ball  like  teetotums.  What's  mair,  she 


87 

pointed  out  the  leddyship  that's  to  be  to  me,  and  I  just 
glowered  at  her,  for  thinks  I,  'Take  your  fill,  Sanders, 
and  whaur  there's  lords  and  leddyships,  dinna  waste  a 
minute  on  colonels  and  honourable  misses  and  sic  like 
dirt.'  Ay,  but  what  wi'  my  een  blinking  at  the  blaze 
o'  candles,  I  lost  sicht  o'  her  till  all  at  aince  somebody 
says  at  my  lug,  'Well,  my  man,  and  who  is  the  prettiest 
lady  in  the  room?'  Mr.  Dishart,  it  was  her  leddyship. 
She  looked  like  a  star. " 

"And  what  did  you  do?" 

"  The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  fall  aff  the  flower-pot ; 
but  syne  I  came  to,  and  says  I,  wi'  a  polite  smirk,  'I'm 
thinking  your  leddyship, '  says  I,  'as  you're  the  bonniest 
yourself. ' " 

"  I  see  you  are  a  cute  man,  Sanders. " 

"  Ay,  but  that's  no'  a*.  She  lauched  in  a  pleased  way 
and  tapped  me  wi'  her  fan,  and  says  she,  'Why  do  you 
think  me  the  prettiest?'  I  dinna  deny  but  what  that 
staggered  me,  but  I  thocht  a  minute,  and  took  a  look 
at  the  other  dancers  again,  and  syne  I  says,  michty 
sly  like,  'The  other  leddies, '  I  says,  'has  sic  sma* 
feet.'" 

Sanders  stopped  here  and  looked  doubtingly  at  Gavin. 

"I  canna  make  up  my  mind,"  he  said,  "whether  she 
liked  that,  for  she  rapped  my  knuckles  wi'  her  fan  fell 
sair,  and  aff  she  gaed.  Ay,  I  consulted  Tammas  Hag- 
gart  about  it,  and  he  says,  'The  flirty  crittur, '  he  says. 
What  would  you  say,  Mr.  Dishart?" 

Gavin  managed  to  escape  without  giving  an  answer, 
for  here  their  roads  separated.  He  did  not  find  the 
Wild  Lindsays,  however.  Children  of  whim,  of  pro- 
digious strength  while  in  the  open,  but  destined  to 
wither  quickly  in  the  hot  air  of  towns,  they  had  gone 
from  Caddam,  leaving  nothing  of  themselves  behind 
but  a  black  mark  burned  by  their  fires  into  the  ground. 
Thus  they  branded  the  earth  through  many  counties 
until  some  hour  when  the  spirit  of  wandering  again  fell 


*8  Cbe  Xfttle  Minister. 

on  them,  and  they  forsook  their  hearths  with  as  little 
compunction  as  the  bird  leaves  its  nest. 

Gavin  had  walked  quickly,  and  he  now  stood  silently 
in  the  wood,  his  hat  in  his  hand.  In  the  moonlight 
the  grass  seemed  tipped  with  hoar  frost.  Most  of  the 
beeches  were  already  bare,  but  the  shoots,  clustering 
round  them,  like  children  at  their  mother's  skirts,  still 
retained  their  leaves  red  and  brown.  Among  the  pines 
these  leaves  were  as  incongruous  as  a  wedding-dress  at  a 
funeral.  Gavin  was  standing  on  grass,  but  there  were 
patches  of  heather  within  sight,  and  broom,  and  the 
leaf  of  the  blaeberry.  Where  the  beeches  had  drawn 
up  the  earth  with  them  as  they  grew,  their  roots  ran 
this  way  and  that,  slippery  to  the  feet  and  looking  like 
disinterred  bones.  A  squirrel  appeared  suddenly  on 
the  charred  ground,  looked  doubtfully  at  Gavin  to  see 
if  he  was  growing  there,  and  then  glided  up  a  tree, 
where  it  sat  eyeing  him,  and  forgetting  to  conceal  its 
shadow.  Caddam  was  very  still.  At  long  intervals 
came  from  far  away  the  whack  of  an  axe  on  wood, 
Gavin  was  in  a  world  by  himself,  and  this  might  be 
someone  breaking  into  it. 

The  mystery  of  woods  by  moonlight  thrilled  the  little 
minister.  His  eyes  rested  on  the  shining  roots,  and  he 
remembered  what  had  been  told  him  of  the  legend  of 
Caddam,  how  once  on  a  time  it  was  a  mighty  wood,  and 
a  maiden  most  beautiful  stood  on  its  confines,  panting 
and  afraid,  for  a  wicked  man  pursued  her;  how  he  drew 
near,  and  she  ran  a  little  way  into  the  wood,  and  he  fol- 
i  lowed  her,  and  she  still  ran,  and  still  he  followed,  until 
both  were  for  ever  lost,  and  the  bones  of  her  pursuer 
lie  beneath  a  beech,  but  the  lady  may  still  be  heard 
singing  in  the  woods  if  the  night  be  fine,  for  then  she 
is  a  glad  spirit,  but  weeping  when  there  is  wild  wind, 
for  then  she  is  but  a  mortal  seeking  a  way  out  of  the 
wood. 

The  squirrel  slid  down  the  fir  and  was  gone.     The 


TTbe 

axe's  blows  ceased.  Nothing  that  moved  was  in  sight. 
The  wind  that  has  its  nest  in  trees  was  circling  around 
with  many  voices,  that  never  rose  above  a  whisper,  and 
were  often  but  the  echo  of  a  sigh. 

Gavin  was  in  the  Cad  dam  of  past  days,  where  the 
beautiful  maiden  wanders  ever,  waiting  for  him  who  is 
so  pure  that  he  may  find  her.  He  will  wander  over  the 
tree-tops  looking  for  her,  with  the  moon  for  his  lamp, 
and  some  night  he  will  hear  her  singing.  The  little 
minister  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  his  foot  snapped  a 
brittle  twig.  Then  he  remembered  who  and  where  he 
was,  and  stooped  to  pick  up  his  staff.  But  he  did  not 
pick  it  up,  for  as  his  fingers  were  closing  on  it  the  lady 
began  to  sing. 

For  perhaps  a  minute  Gavin  stood  stock  still,  like 
an  intruder.  Then  he  ran  towards  the  singing,  which 
seemed  to  come  from  Windyghoul,  a  straight  road 
through  Caddam  that  farmers  use  in  summer,  but  leave 
in  the  back  end  of  the  year  to  leaves  and  pools.  In 
Windyghoul  there  is  either  no  wind  or  so  much  that  it 
rushes  down  the  sieve  like  an  army,  entering  with  a 
shriek  of  terror,  and  escaping  with  a  derisive  howl. 
The  moon  was  crossing  the  avenue.  But  Gavin  only 
saw  the  singer. 

She  was  still  fifty  yards  away,  sometimes  singing 
gleefully,  and  again  letting  her  body  sway  lightly  as  she 
came  dancing  up  Windyghoul.  Soon  she  was  within  a 
few  feet  of  the  little  minister,  to  whom  singing,  except 
when  out  of  tune,  was  a  suspicious  thing,  and  dancing 
a  device  of  the  devil.  His  arm  went  out  wrathfully, 
and  his  intention  was  to  pronounce  sentence  on  this 
woman. 

But  she  passed,  unconscious  of  his  presence,  and  he 
had  not  moved  nor  spoken.  Though  really  of  the  aver- 
age height,  she  was  a  little  thing  to  the  eyes  of  Gavin, 
who  always  felt  tall  and  stout  except  when  he  looked 
down.  The  grace  of  her  swaying  figure  was  a  new 


40  Sbe  Xittle  /Btnfster. 

thing  in  the  world  to  him.  Only  while  she  passed  did 
he  see  her  as  a  gleam  of  colour,  a  gypsy  elf  poorly  clad, 
her  bare  feet  flashing  beneath  a  short  green  skirt,  a 
twig  of  rowan  berries  stuck  carelessly  into  her  black 
hair.  Her  face  was  pale.  She  had  an  angel's  loveli- 
ness. Gavin  shook. 

Still  she  danced  onwards,  but  she  was  very  human, 
for  when  she  came  to  muddy  water  she  let  her  feet  lin- 
ger in  it,  and  flung  up  her  arms,  dancing  more  wantonlv 
than  before.  A  diamond  on  her  finger  shot  a  thread  ot 
fire  over  the  pool.  Undoubtedly  she  was  the  devil. 

Gavin  leaped  into  the  avenue,  and  she  heard  him  and 
looked  behind.  He  tried  to  cry  "Woman!"  sternly, 
but  lost  the  word,  for  now  she  saw  him,  and  laughed 
with  her  shoulders,  and  beckoned  to  him,  so  that  he 
shook  his  fist  at  her.  She  tripped  on,  but  often  turn- 
ing her  head  beckoned  and  mocked  him,  and  he  forgot 
his  dignity  and  his  pulpit  and  all  other  things,  and  ran 
after  her.  Up  Windyghoul  did  he  pursue  her,  and  it 
was  well  that  the  precentor  was  not  there  to  see.  She 
reached  the  mouth  of  the  avenue,  and  kissing  her  hand 
to  Gavin,  so  that  the  ring  gleamed  again,  was  gone. 

The  minister's  one  thought  was  to  find  her,  but  he 
searched  in  vain.  She  might  be  crossing  the  hill  on 
her  way  to  Thrums,  or  perhaps  she  was  still  laughing 
at  him  from  behind  a  tree.  After  a  longer  time  than 
he  was  aware  of,  Gavin  realised  that  his  boots  were 
chirping  and  his  trousers  streaked  with  mud.  Then  he 
abandoned  the  search  and  hastened  homewards  in  a 
rage. 

From  the  hill  to  the  manse  the  nearest  way  is  down 
two  fields,  and  the  little  minister  descended  them 
rapidly.  Thrums,  which  is  red  in  daylight,  was  grey 
and  still  as  the  cemetery.  He  had  glimpses  of  several 
of  its  deserted  streets.  To  the  south  the  watch-light 
showed  brightly,  but  no  other  was  visible.  So  it  seerped 
to  Gavin,  and  then — suddenly — he  lost  the  power  to 


tCbe  £0KPtian.  41 


move.  He  had  heard  the  horn.  Thrice  it  sounded, 
and  thrice  it  struck  him  to  the  heart.  He  looked  again 
and  saw  a  shadow  stealing  along  the  Tenements,  then 
another,  then  half-a-dozen.  He  remembered  Mr.  Car- 
frae's  words,  "  If  you  ever  hear  that  horn,  I  implore  you 
to  hasten  to  the  square,"  and  in  another  minute  he  had 
reached  the  Tenements. 

Now  again  he  saw  the  gypsy.     She  ran  past  him, 
half-a-score  of  men,  armed  with  staves  and  pikes,  at^ 
her  heels.     At  first  he  thought  they  were  chasing  her. 
but  they  were  following  her  as  a  leader.     Her  eyes 
sparkled  as  she  waved  them  to  the  square  with  her  arms. 

"The  soldiers,  the  soldiers!"  was  the  universal  cry. 

"Who  is  that  woman?"  demanded  Gavin,  catching 
hold  of  a  frightened  old  man. 

"Curse  the  Egyptian  limmer,"  the  man  answered, 
"she's  egging  my  laddie  on  to  fecht." 

"Bless  her  rather,"  the  son  cried,  "for  warning  us 
that  the  sojers  is  coming.  Put  your  ear  to  the  ground, 
Mr.  Dishart,  and  you'll  hear  the  dirl  o'  their  feet." 

The  young  man  rushed  away  to  the  square,  flinging 
his  father  from  him.  Gavin  followed.  As  he  turned 
into  the  school  wynd,  the  town  drum  began  to  beat, 
windows  were  thrown  open,  and  sullen  men  ran  out  of 
closes  where  women  were  screaming  and  trying  to  hold 
them  back.  At  the  foot  of  the  wynd  Gavin  passed 
Sanders  Webster. 

"  Mr.  Dishart,"  the  mole-catcher  cried,  "hae  you  seen 
that  Egyptian?  May  I  be  struck  dead  if  it's  no'  her 
little  leddyship.  " 

But  Gavin  did  not  hear  him. 


CHAPTER   V. 

A  WARLIKE  CHAPTER,  CULMINATING   IN  THE  FLOUTING  OF 
THE  MINISTER   BY  THE  WOMAN. 

"MR.  DISHART!" 

Jean  had  clutched  at  Gavin  in  Bank  Street.  Her 
hair  was  streaming,  and  her  wrapper  but  half  buttoned. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Dishart,  look  at  the  mistress!  I  couldna 
keep  her  in  the  manse." 

Gavin  saw  his  mother  beside  him,  bare-headed, 
trembling. 

"  How  could  I  sit  still,  Gavin,  and  the  town  full  o' 
the  skirls  of  women  and  bairns?  Oh,  Gavin,  what  can  I 
do  for  them?  They  will  suffer  most  this  night." 

As  Gavin  took  her  hand  he  knew  that  Margaret  felt 
for  the  people  more  than  he. 

"But  you  must  go  home,  mother,"  he  said,  "and 
leave  me  to  do  my  duty.  I  will  take  you  myself  if  you 
will  not  go  with  Jean.  Be  careful  of  her,  Jean. " 

"Ay,  will  I,"  Jean  answered,  then  burst  into  tears. 
"  Mr.  Dishart,"  she  cried,  "  if  they  take  my  father  they'd 
best  take  my  mither  too." 

The  two  women  went  back  to  the  manse,  where  Jean 
re-lit  the  fire,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  and  boiled  th*. 
kettle,  while  Margaret  wandered  in  anguish  from  roortv 
to  room. 

Men  nearly  naked  ran  past  Gavin,  seeking  to  escape 
from  Thrums  by  the  fields  he  had  descended.  When 
he  shouted  to  them  they  only  ran  faster.  A  Tillyloss 
weaver  whom  he  tried  to  stop  struck  him  savagely  and 
sped  past  to  the  square.  In  Bank  Street,  which  was  full 


a  Warlike  Chapter.  42 

of  people  at  one  moment  and  empty  the  next,  the  min 
ister  stumbled  over  old  Charles  Yuill. 

"Take  me  and  welcome,"  Yuill  cried,  mistaking 
Gavin  for  the  enemy.  He  had  only  one  arm  through 
the  sleeve  of  his  jacket,  and  his  feet  were  bare. 

"  I  am  Mr.  Dishart.  Are  the  soldiers  already  in  the 
square,  Yuill?" 

"They'll  be  there  in  a  minute." 

The  man  was  so  weak  that  Gavin  had  to  hold 
him. 

"  Be  a  man,  Charles.  You  have  nothing  to  fear.  It 
is  not  such  as  you  the  soldiers  have  come  for.  If  need 
be,  I  can  swear  that  you  had  not  the  strength,  even  if 
you  had  the  will,  to  join  in  the  weavers'  riot." 

"For  Godsake,  Mr.  Dishart,"  Yuill  cried,  his  hands 
chattering  on  Gavin's  coat,  "dinna  swear  that.  My 
laddie  was  in  the  thick  o*  the  riot;  and  if  he's  ta'en 
there's  the  poor's-house  gaping  for  Kitty  and  me,  for  I 
couldna  weave  half  a  web  a  week.  If  there's  a  war- 
rant agin  onybody  o'  the  name  of  Yuill,  swear  it's  me; 
swear  I'm  a  desperate  character,  swear  I'm  michty 
strong  for  all  I  look  palsied ;  and  if  when  they  take  me, 
my  courage  breaks  down,  swear  the  mair,  swear  I  con- 
fessed my  guilt  to  you  on  the  Book." 

As  Yuill  spoke  the  quick  rub-a-dub  of  a  drum  was 
heard. 

"  The  soldiers !"  Gavin  let  go  his  hold  of  the  old  man, 
who  hastened  away  to  give  himself  up. 

"That's  no  the  sojers,"  said  a  woman;  "it's  the  folk 
gathering  in  the  square.  This'll  be  a  watery  Sabbath 
in  Thrums." 

"Rob  Dow,"  shouted  Gavin,  as  Dow  flung  past  with 
a  scythe  in  his  hand,  "  lay  down  that  scythe." 

"To  hell  wi'  religion!"  Rob  retorted,  fiercely;  "it 
spoils  a'  thing." 

"  Lay  down  that  scythe;  I  command  you." 

Rob  stopped  undecidedly,  then  cast  the  scythe  from 


44  tTbe  Xlttle  flbinister. 

him,  but  its  rattle  on  the  stones  was  more  than  he  could 
bear. 

"I  winna,"  he  cried,  and,  picking  it  up,  ran  to  the 
square. 

An  upper  window  in  Bank  Street  opened,  and  Dr. 
McQueen  put  out  his  head.  He  was  smoking  as  usual. 

"Mr.  Dishart,"  he  said,  "you  will  return  home  at 
once  if  you  are  a  wise  man;  or,  better  still,  come  in 
here.  You  can  do  nothing  with  these  people  to-night." 

"  I  can  stop  their  fighting. " 

"  You  will  only  make  black  blood  between  them  and 
you. " 

"Dinna  heed  him,  Mr.  Dishart,"  cried  some  women. 

"  You  had  better  heed  him, "  cried  a  man. 

"  I  will  not  desert  my  people, "  Gavin  said. 

"Listen,  then,  to  my  prescription,"  the  doctor  re- 
plied.  "  Drive  that  gypsy  lassie  out  of  the  town  before 
the  soldiers  reach  it.  She  is  firing  the  men  to  a  red- 
heat  through  sheer  devilry. " 

"  She  brocht  the  news,  or  we  would  have  been  nipped 
in  our  beds,"  some  people  cried. 

"  Does  any  one  know  who  she  is?"  Gavin  demanded, 
but  all  shook  their  heads.  The  Egyptian,  as  they 
called  her,  had  never  been  seen  in  these  parts  before. 

"  Has  any  other  person  seen  the  soldiers?"  he  asked. 
"  Perhaps  this  is  a  false  alarm." 

"Several  have  seen  them  within  the  last  few  min- 
utes," the  doctor  answered.  "They  came  from  Tillie- 
drum,  and  were  advancing  on  us  from  the  south,  but 
when  they  heard  that  we  had  got  the  alarm  they  stopped 
at  the  top  of  the  brae,  near  T'nowhead's  farm.  Man, 
you  would  take  these  things  more  coolly  if  you  smoked." 

"Show  me  this  woman,"  Gavin  said  sternly  to  those 
who  had  been  listening.  T'hen  a  stream  of  people 
carried  him  into  the  square. 

The  square  has  altered  little,  even  in  these  days  of 
enterprise,  when  Tillyloss  has  become  Newton  Ban)? 


B  lauhhc  Chapter.  45 

and  the  Craft  Head  Croft  Terrace,  with  enamelled 
labels  on  them  for  the  guidance  of  slow  people,  who 
forget  their  address  and  have  to  run  to  the  end  of  the 
street  and  look  up  every  time  they  write  a  letter.  The 
stones  on  which  the  butter-wives  sat  have  disappeared, 
and  with  them  the  clay  walls  and  the  outside  stairs. 
Gone,  too,  is  the  stair  of  the  town-house,  from  the  top 
of  which  the  drummer  roared  the  gossip  of  the  week  on 
Sabbaths  to  country  folk,  to  the  scandal  of  all  who  knew 
that  the  proper  thing  on  that  day  is  to  keep  your  blinds 
down;  but  the  townhouse  itself,  round  and  red,  still 
makes  exit  to  the  south  troublesome.  Wherever  streets 
meet  the  square  there  is  a  house  in  the  centre  of  them, 
and  thus  the  heart  of  Thrums  is  a  box,  in  which  the 
stranger  finds  himself  suddenly,  wondering  at  first  how 
he  is  to  get  out,  and  presently  how  he  got  in. 

To  Gavin,  who  never  before  had  seen  a  score  of  peo- 
ple in  the  square  at  once,  here  was  a  sight  strange  and 
terrible.  Andrew  Struthers,  an  old  soldier,  stood  on 
the  outside  stair  of  the  town-house,  shouting  words  of 
command  to  some  fifty  weavers,  many  of  them  scantily 
clad,  but  all  armed  with  pikes  and  poles.  Most  were 
known  to  the  little  minister,  but  they  wore  faces  that 
were  new  to  him.  Newcomers  joined  the  body  every 
moment.  If  the  drill  was  clumsy  the  men  were  fierce. 
Hundreds  of  people  gathered  around,  some  screaming, 
some  shaking  their  fists  at  the  old  soldier,  many  trying 
to  pluck  their  relatives  out  of  danger.  Gavin  could  not 
see  the  Egyptian.  Women  and  old  men,  fighting  for 
the  possession  of  his  ear,  implored  him  to  disperse  the 
armed  band.  He  ran  up  the  town-house  stair,  and  in  a 
moment  it  had  become  a  pulpit. 

"Dinna  dare  to  interfere,  Mr.  Dishart,"  Struthers 
said  savagely. 

"Andrew  Struthers,"  said  Gavin  solemnly,  "in  the 
name  of  God  I  order  you  to  leave  me  alone.  If  you  don 't, " 
he  added  ferociously,  "I'll  fling  you  over  the  stair. '' 


46  Cbe  little  Minister. 

"Dinna  heed  him,  Andrew,"  some  one  shouted,  and 
another  cried,  "  He  canna  understand  our  sufferings  ; 
he  has  dinner  ilka  day." 

Struthers  faltered,  however,  and  Gavin  cast  his  eye 
over  the  armed  men. 

"Rob  Dow,"  he  said,  "William  Carmichael,  Thomas 
Whamond,  William  Munn,  Alexander  Hobart,  Renders 
Haggart,  step  forward." 

These  were  Auld  Lichts,  and  when  they  found  that 
the  minister  would  not  take  his  eyes  off  them,  they 
obeyed,  all  save  Rob  Dow. 

"Never  mind  him,  Rob,"  said  the  atheist,  Cruick- 
shanks,  "  it's  better  playing  cards  in  hell  than  singing 
psalms  in  heaven. " 

"Joseph  Cruickshanks,"  responded  Gavin  grimly, 
"  you  will  find  no  cards  down  there. " 

Then  Rob  also  came  to  the  foot  of  the  stair.  There 
was  some  angry  muttering  from  the  crowd,  and  young 
Charles  Yuill  exclaimed,  "  Curse  you,  would  you  lord 
it  ower  us  on  week-days  as  weel  as  on  Sabbaths?" 

"  Lay  down  your  weapons,"  Gavin  said  to  the  six  men. 

They  looked  at  each  other.  Hobart  slipped  his  pike 
behind  his  back. 

"  I  hae  no  weapon,"  he  said  slily. 

"Let  me  hae  my  fling  this  nicht,"  Dow  entreated, 
"and  I'll  promise  to  bide  sober  for  a  twelvemonth." 

"Oh,  Rob,  Rob!"  the  minister  said  bitterly,  "are 
you  the  man  I  prayed  with  a  few  hours  ago?" 

The  scythe  fell  from  Rob's  hands. 

"  Down  wi'  your  pikes,"  he  roared  to  his  companions, 
"or  I'll  brain  you  wi'  them." 

"  Ay,  lay  them  down,"  the  precentor  whispered,  "  but 
keep  your  feet  on  them. " 

Then  the  minister,  who  was  shaking  with  excitement, 
though  he  did  not  know  it,  stretched  forth  his  arms  for 
silence,  and  it  came  so  suddenly  as  to  frighten  the  peo- 
ple in  the  neighboring  streets. 


a  "CaarUKc  Chapter.  4? 

"If  he  prays  we're  done  for,"  cried  young  Charles 
Yuill,  but  even  in  that  hour  many  of  the  people  were 
unbonneted. 

"  Oh,  Thou  who  art  the  Lord  of  hosts, "  Gavin  prayed, 
"  we  are  in  Thy  hands  this  night.  These  are  Thy  peo- 
ple, and  they  have  sinned ;  but  Thou  art  a  merciful  God, 
and  they  were  sore  tried,  and  knew  not  what  they  did. 
To  Thee,  our  God,  we  turn  for  deliverance,  for  without 
Thee  we  are  lost. " 

The  little  minister's  prayer  was  heard  all  round  the 
square,  and  many  weapons  were  dropped  as  an  Amen 
to  it. 

"If  you  fight,"  cried  Gavin,  brightening  as  he  heard 
the  clatter  of  the  iron  on  the  stones,  "  your  wives  and 
children  may  be  shot  in  the  streets.  These  soldiers 
have  come  for  a  dozen  of  you ;  will  you  be  benefited  if 
they  take  away  a  hundred?" 

"Oh,  hearken  to  him,"  cried  many  women. 

"I  winna,"  answered  a  man,  "for  I'm  ane  o'  the 
dozen.  Whaur's  the  Egyptian?" 

"Here." 

Gavin  saw  the  crowd  open,  and  the  woman  of  Windy- 
ghoul  come  out  of  it,  and,  while  he  should  have  de- 
nounced her,  he  only  blinked,  for  once  more  her 
loveliness  struck  him  full  in  the  eyes.  She  was  beside 
him  on  the  stair  before  he  became  a  minister  again. 

"  How  dare  you,  woman?"  he  cried;  but  she  flung  a 
rowan  berry  at  him. 

"If  I  were  a  man,"  she  exclaimed,  addressing  the 
people,  "  I  wouldna  let  myself  be  catched  like  a  mouse 
in  a  trap." 

"We  winna,"  some  answered. 

"  What  kind  o*  women  are  you, "  cried  the  Egyptian, 
her  face  gleaming  as  she  turned  to  her  own  sex,  "  that 
bid  your  men  folk  gang  to  gaol  when  a  bold  front  would 
lead  them  to  safety?  Do  you  want  to  be  husbandless 
and  nameless?" 


18  Cbc  Xittle  /nMntsi  -r, 

"Disperse,  I  command  you.'"  cried  Gavin.  "This 
abandoned  woman  is  inciting  you  to  riot. " 

"  Dinna  heed  this  little  man,"  the  Egyptian  retorted. 

It  is  curious  to  know  that  even  at  that  anxious  moment 
Gavin  winced  because  she  called  him  little. 

"  She  has  the  face  of  a  mischief-maker,"  he  shouted, 
"and  her  words  are  evil." 

"You  men  and  women  o'  Thrums,"  she  responded, 
"  ken  that  I  wish  you  weel  by  the  service  I  hae  done 
you  this  nicht.  Wha  telled  you  the  sojers  was  com- 
ing?" 

"  It  was  you;  it  was  you!" 

"Ay,  and  mony  a  mile  I  ran  to  bring  the  news. 
Listen,  and  I'll  tell  you  mair." 

"She  has  a  false  tongue,"  Gavin  cried;  "listen  not 
to  the  brazen  woman." 

"What  I  have  to  tell,"  she  said,  "is  as  true  as  what 
I've  telled  already,  and  how  true  that  is  you  a'  ken. 
You're  wondering  how  the  sojers  has  come  to  a  stop  at 
the  tap  o'  the  brae  instead  o'  marching  on  the  town. 
Here's  the  reason.  They  agreed  to  march  straucht  to 
the  square  if  the  alarm  wasna  given,  but  if  it  was  they 
were  to  break  into  small  bodies  and  surround  the  town 
so  that  you  couldna  get  out.  That's  what  they're  doing 
now. " 

At  this  the  screams  were  redoubled,  and  many  men 
lifted  the  weapons  they  had  dropped. 

"  Believe  her  not,"  cried  Gavin.  "  How  could  a  wan- 
dering gypsy  know  all  this?" 

"Ay,  how  can  you  ken?"  some  demanded. 

"It's  enough  that  I  do  ken,"  the  Egyptian  answered. 
"  And  this  mair  I  ken,  that  the  captain  of  the  soldiers  is 
confident  he'll  nab  every  one  o'  you  that's  wanted  un- 
less you  do  one  thing. " 

"What  is 't?" 

"  If  you  a'  run  different  ways  you're  lost,  but  if  you 
keep  thegither  you'll  be  able  to  force  a  road  into  the 


a  TOlarliftc  Cbaptcr.  49 

country,  whaur  you  can  scatter.     That's  what  he's  fleid 
you'll  do." 

"Then  it's  what  we  will  do." 

"It  is  what  you  will  not  do,"  Gavin  said  passion- 
ately. "  The  truth  is  not  in  this  wicked  woman." 

But  scarcely  had  he  spoken  when  he  knew  that  start- 
ling news  had  reached  the  square.  A  murmur  arose 
on  the  skirts  of  the  mob,  and  swept  with  the  roar  of  the 
sea  towards  the  town-house.  A  detachment  of  the  sol- 
diers were  marching  down  the  Roods  from  the  north. 

"There's  some  coming  frae  the  east-town  end,"  was 
the  next  intelligence;  "and  they've  gripped  Sanders 
Webster,  and  auld  Charles  Yuill  has  given  himsel'  up." 

"You  see,  you  see,"  the  gypsy  said,  flashing  triumph 
at  Gavin. 

"Lay  down  your  weapons,"  Gavin  cried,  but  his 
power  over  the  people  had  gone. 

"The  Egyptian  spoke  true,"  they  shouted;  "dinna 
heed  the  minister." 

Gavin  tried  to  seize  the  gypsy  by  the  shoulders,  but 
she  slipped  past  him  down  the  stair,  and  crying  "  Follow 
me!"  ran  round  the  town-house  and  down  the  brae. 

"Woman!"  he  shouted  after  her,  but  she  only  waved 
her  arms  scornfully.  The  people  followed  her,  many 
of  the  men  still  grasping  their  weapons,  but  all  in  disor- 
der. Within  a  minute  after  Gavin  saw  the  gleam  of  the 
ring  on  her  finger,  as  she  waved  her  hands,  he  and  Dow 
were  alone  in  the  square. 

"  She's  an  awfu'  woman  that,"  Rob  said.  "  I  saw  her 
lauching." 

Gavin  ground  his  teeth. 

"Rob  Dow,"  he  said,  slowly,  "if  I  had  not  found 
Christ  I  would  have  throttled  that  woman.     You  saw 
how  she  flouted  me?" 
4 


CHAPTER   VI. 

W  WHICH  THE  SOLDIERS  MEET  THE  AMAZONS  OF  THRUMS. 

Dow  looked  shamefacedly  at  the  minister,  and  then 
set  off  up  the  square. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Rob?" 

"  To  gie  myself  up.  I  maun  do  something  to  let  you 
see  there's  one  man  in  Thrums  that  has  mair  faith  in 
you  than  in  a  fliskmahoy." 

"And  only  one,  Rob.  But  I  don't  know  that  they 
want  to  arrest  you. " 

"  Ay,  I  had  a  hand  in  tying  the  polissman  to  the " 

"  I  want  to  hear  nothing  about  that, "  Gavin  said- 
quickly. 

"Will  I  hide,  then?" 

"  I  dare  not  advise  you  to  do  that.  It  would  be  wrong. " 

Half  a  score  of  fugitives  tore  past  the  town-house, 
and  were  out  of  sight  without  a  cry.  There  was  a  tread 
of  heavier  feet,  and  a  dozen  soldiers,  with  several 
policemen  and  two  prisoners,  appeared  suddenly  on  the 
north  side  of  the  square. 

"  Rob,"  cried  the  minister  in  desperation,  "run!" 

When  the  soldiers  reached  the  town-house,  where 
they  locked  up  their  prisoners,  Dow  was  skulking  east- 
ward, and  Gavin  running  down  the  brae. 

"They're  fechting,"  he  was  told,  "they're  fechting 
on  the  brae,  the  sojers  is  firing,  a  man's  killed!" 

But  this  was  an  exaggeration. 

The  brae,  though  short,  is  very  steep.  There  is  a 
hedge  on  one  side  of  it,  from  which  the  land  falls  away, 
and  on  the  other  side  a  hillock.  Gavin  reached  the 


Smasons  of  Cbrums.  ih 

scene  to  see  the  soldiers  marching  down  the  brae, 
guarding  a  small  body  of  policemen.  The  armed 
weavers  were  retreating  before  them.  A  hundred 
women  or  more  were  on  the  hillock,  shrieking  and 
gesticulating.  Gavin  joined  them,  calling  on  them  not 
to  fling  the  stones  they  had  begun  to  gather. 

The  armed  men  broke  into  a  rabble,  flung  down  their 
weapons,  and  fled  back  towards  the  town-house.  Here 
they  almost  ran  against  the  soldiers  in  the  square,  who 
again  forced  them  into  the  brae.  Finding  themselves 
about  to  be  wedged  between  the  two  forces,  some 
crawled  through  the  hedge,  where  they  were  instantly 
seized  by  policemen.  Others  sought  to  climb  up  the 
hillock  and  then  escape  into  the  country.  The  police- 
men clambered  after  them.  The  men  were  too  fright- 
ened to  fight,  but  a  woman  seized  a  policeman  by  the 
waist  and  flung  him  head  foremost  among  the  soldiers. 
One  of  these  shouted  "Fire!"  but  the  captain  cried 
"  No. "  Then  came  showers  of  missiles  from  the  women. 
They  stood  their  ground  and  defended  the  retreat  of  the 
scared  men. 

Who  flung  the  first  stone  is  not  known,  but  it  is  be- 
lieved to  have  been  the  Egyptian.  The  policemen 
were  recalled,  and  the  whole  body  ordered  to  advance 
down  the  brae.  Thus  the  weavers  who  had  not  escaped 
at  once  were  driven  before  them,  and  soon  hemmed  in 
between  the  two  bodies  of  soldiers,  when  they  were 
easily  captured.  But  for  two  minutes  there  was  a  thick 
shower  of  stones  and  clods  of  earth. 

It  was  ever  afterwards  painful  to  Gavin  to  recall  this 
scene,  but  less  on  account  of  the  shower  of  stones  than 
because  of  the  flight  of  one  divit  in  it.  He  had  been 
watching  the  handsome  young  captain,  Halliwell,  rid- 
ing with  his  men ;  admiring  him,  too,  for  his  coolness. 
This  coolness  exasperated  the  gypsy,  who  twice  flung 
at  Halliwell  and  missed  him.  He  rode  on  smiling 
contemptuously. 


52  Obe  Xfttle  Minister. 

"Oh,  if  I  could  only  fling  straight!"  the  Egyptian 
moaned. 

Then  she  saw  the  minister  by  her  side,  and  in  the 
tick  of  a  clock  something  happened  that  can  never  be 
explained.  For  the  moment  Gavin  was  so  lost  in  mis- 
ery over  the  probable  effect  of  the  night's  rioting  that 
he  had  forgotten  where  he  was.  Suddenly  the  Egyp- 
tian's beautiful  face  was  close  to  his,  and  she  pressed  a 
divit  into  his  hand,  at  the  same  time  pointing  at  the 
officer,  and  whispering  "  Hit  him. " 

Gavin  flung  the  clod  of  earth,  and  fait  Halliwell  on 
the  head. 

I  say  I  cannot  explain  this.  I  tell  what  happened, 
and  add  with  thankfulness  that  only  the  Egyptian  wit- 
nessed the  deed.  Gavin,  I  suppose,  had  flung  the  divit 
before  he  could  stay  his  hand.  Then  he  shrank  in 
horror. 

"Woman!"  he  cried  again. 

"You  are  a  dear,"  she  said,  and  vanished. 

By  the  time  Gavin  was  breathing  freely  again  the 
lock-up  was  crammed  with  prisoners,  and  the  Riot  Act 
had  been  read  from  the  town-house  stair.  It  is  still 
remembered  that  the  baron-bailie,  to  whom  this  duty 
fell,  had  got  no  further  than,  "  Victoria,  by  the  Grace 
of  God,"  when  the  paper  was  struck  out  of  his  hands. 

When  a  stirring  event  occurs  up  here  we  smack  our 
lips  over  it  for  months,  and  so  I  could  still  write  a  his- 
tory of  that  memorable  night  in  Thrums.  I  could  tell 
how  the  doctor,  a  man  whose  shoulders  often  looked  as 
if  they  had  been  caught  rn  a  shower  of  tobacco  ash, 
brought  me  the  news  to  the  school-house,  and  now, 
when  I  crossed  the  fields  to  dumfounder  Waster  Lunny 
with  it,  I  found  Birse,  the  post,  reeling  off  the  story  to 
him  as  fast  as  a  fisher  could  let  out  line.  I  know  who 
was  the  first  woman  on  the  Marywell  brae  to  hear  the 
horn,  and  how  she  woke  her  husband,  and  who  heard  it 
first  at  the  Denhead  and  the  Tenements,  with  what  they 


Cbe  Sma3ons  or  Cbrums.  ft* 

immediately  said  and  did.  I  had  from  Dite  Denchar's 
own  lips  the  curious  story  of  his  sleeping  placidly 
throughout  the  whole  disturbance,  and  on  wakening  in 
the  morning  yoking  to  his  loom  as  usual;  and  also  his 
statement  that  such  ill-luck  was  enough  to  shake  a 
man's  faith  in  religion.  The  police  had  knowledge 
that  enabled  them  to  go  straight  to  the  houses  of  the 
weavers  wanted,  but  they  sometimes  brought  away  the 
wrong  man,  for  such  of  the  people  as  did  not  escape 
from  the  town  had  swopped  houses  for  the  night — a 
trick  that  served  them  better  than  all  their  drilling  on 
the  hill.  Old  Yuill's  son  escaped  by  burying  himself 
in  a  peat -rick,  and  Snecky  Hobart  by  pretending  that 
he  was  a  sack  of  potatoes.  Less  fortunate  was  Sanders 
Webster,  the  mole-catcher  already  mentioned.  Sanders 
was  really  an  innocent  man.  He  had  not  even  been  in 
Thrums  on  the  night  of  the  rising  against  the  manu- 
facturers, but  thinking  that  the  outbreak  was  to  be  left 
unpunished,  he  wanted  his  share  in  the  glory  of  it.  So 
he  had  boasted  of  being  a  ringleader  until  many  be- 
lieved him,  including  the  authorities.  His  bragga- 
docio undid  him.  He  was  run  to  earth  in  a  pig-sty, 
and  got  nine  months.  With  the  other  arrests  I  need 
not  concern  myself,  for  they  have  no  part  in  the  story 
of  the  little  minister. 

While  Gavin  was  with  the  families  whose  bread- 
winners were  now  in  the  lock-up,  a  cell  that  was  usually 
crammed  on  fair  nights  and  empty  for  the  rest  of  the 
year,  the  sheriff  and  Halliwell  were  in  the  round-room 
of  the  town-house,  not  in  a  good  temper.  They  spoke 
loudly,  and  some  of  their  words  sank  into  the  cell 
below. 

"  The  whole  thing  has  been  a  fiasco,"  the  sheriff  was 
heard  saying,  "owing  to  our  fairing  to  take  them  by 
surprise.  Why,  three-fourths  of  those  taken  will  have 
to  be  liberated,  and  we  have  let  the  worst  offenders  slip 
through  our  hands." 


M  ttbe  Xittle 

"Well,"  answered  Halliwell,  who  was  wearing  a 
heavy  cloak,  "  I  have  brought  your  policemen  into  the 
place,  and  that  is  all  I  undertook  to  do." 

"  You  brought  them,  but  at  the  expense  of  alarming 
the  country-side.  I  wish  we  had  come  without  you." 

"Nonsense!  My  men  advanced  like  ghosts.  Could 
your  police  have  come  down  that  brae  alone  to-night?" 

"Yes,  because  it  would  have  been  deserted.  Your 
soldiers,  I  tell  you,  have  done  the  mischief.  This 
woman,  who,  so  many  of  our  prisoners  admit,  brought 
the  news  of  our  coming,  must  either  have  got  it  from 
one  of  your  men  or  have  seen  them  on  the  march. " 

"The  men  did  not  know  their  destination.  True, 
she  might  have  seen  us  despite  our  precautions,  but  you 
forget  that  she  told  them  how  we  were  to  act  in  the 
event  of  our  being  seen.  That  is  what  perplexes  me." 

"  Yes,  and  me  too,  for  it  was  a  close  secret  between 
you  and  me  and  Lord  Rintoul  and  not  half-a-dozen 
others." 

"  Well,  find  the  woman,  and  we  shall  get  the  explana- 
tion. If  she  is  still  in  the  town  she  cannot  escape,  for 
my  men  are  everywhere." 

"  She  was  seen  ten  minutes  ago." 

"Then  she  is  ours.  I  say,  Riach,  if  I  were  you  I 
would  set  all  my  prisoners  free  and  take  away  a  cart- 
load of  their  wives  imstead.  I  have  only  seen  the  backs 
of  the  men  of  Thrums,  but,  on  my  word,  I  very  nearly 
ran  away  from  the  women.  Hallo!  I  believe  one  of 
your  police  has  cauglit  our  virago  single-handed." 

So  Halliwell  exclaimed,  hearing  some  one  shout, 
"  This  is  the  rascal !"  But  it  was  not  the  Egyptian  who 
was  then  thrust  into  the  round-room.  It  was  John 
Dunwoodie,  looking  very  sly.  Probably  there  was  not, 
even  in  Thrums,  a  cannier  man  than  Dunwoodie.  His 
religious  views  were  those  of  Cruickshanks,  but  he  went 
regularly  to  church  "on  the  off-chance  of  there  being  a 
(C''*4  after  all ;  so  I'm  safe,  whatever  side  may  be  wrong. " 


Bmsjons  of  Gtorums.  so 

"This  is  the  man,"  explained  a  policeman,  "who 
brought  the  alarm.  He  admits  himself  having  been  in 
Tilliedrum  just  before  we  started." 

"Your  name,  my  man?"  the  sheriff  demanded. 

"It  micht  be  John  Dunwoodie,"  the  tinsmith  an- 
swered cautiously. 

"  But  is  it?" 

"  I  dinna  say  it's  no." 

"  Yon  were  in  Tilliedrum  this  evening?" 

"I  micht  hae  been." 

"Were  you?" 

"  I'll  swear  to  nothing." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  I'm  a  canny  man." 

"Into  the  cell  with  him,"  Halliwell  cried,  losing 
patience. 

"  Leave  him  to  me,"  said  the  sheriff.  "  I  understand 
the  sort  of  man.  Now,  Dunwoodie,  what  were  you 
doing  in  Tilliedrum?" 

"  I  was  taking  my  laddie  down  to  be  prenticed  to  a 
writer  there,"  answered  Dunwoodie,  falling  into  the 
sheriff's  net. 

"What  are  you  yourself.'" 

"  I  micht  be  a  tinsmith  to  trade." 

"  And  you,  a  mere  tinsmith,  dare  to  tell  me  that  a 
lawyer  was  willing  to  take  your  son  into  his  office?  Be 
cautious,  Dunwoodie." 

"  Weel,  then,  the  laddie's  highly  edicated  and  I  hae 
siller,  and  that's  how  the  writer  was  to  take  him  and 
make  a  gentleman  o'  him." 

"I  learn  from  the  neighbours,"  the  policeman  ex- 
plained, "that  this  is  partly  true,  but  what  makes  us 
suspect  him  is  this.  He  left  the  laddie  at  Tilliedrum, 
and  yet  when  he  came  home  the  first  person  he  sees  at 
the  fireside  is  the  laddie  himself.  The  laddie  had  run 
home,  and  the  reason  plainly  was  that  he  had  heard  of. 
our  preparations  and  wanted  to  alarm  the  town." 


66  Ube  Xitttc  /Minister. 

"There  seems  something  in  this,  Dunwoodie,"  the 
sheriff  said,  "  and  if  you  cannot  explain  it  I  must  keep 
you  in  custody." 

"I'll  make  a  clean  breast  o't,"  Dunwoodie  replied, 
seeing  that  in  this  matter  truth  was  best.  "  The 
laddie  was  terrible  against  being  made  a  gentleman, 
and  when  he  saw  the  kind  o'  life  he  would  hae  to 
lead,  clean  hands,  clean  dickies,  and  no  gutters  on  his 
breeks,  his  heart  took  mair  scunner  at  genteelity  than 
ever,  and  he  ran  hame.  Ay,  I  was  mad  when  I  saw 
him  at  the  fireside,  but  he  says  to  me,  'How  would  you 
like  to  be  a  gentleman  yoursel',  father?"  he  says, 
and  that  so  affected  me  'at  I'm  to  gie  him  his  ain 
way. " 

Another  prisoner,  Dave  Langlands,  was  confronted 
with  Dunwoodie. 

"John  Dunwoodie's  as  innocent  as  I  am  mysel,"  Dave 
said,  "and  I'm  most  michty  innocent.  It  wasna  John 
but  the  Egyptian  that  gave  the  alarm.  I  tell  you  what, 
sheriff,  if  it'll  make  me  innocenter-like  I'll  picture  the 
Egyptian  to  you  just  as  I  saw  her,  and  syne  you'll  be 
able  to  catch  her  easier." 

"You  are  an  honest  fellow,"  said  the  sheriff. 

"I  only  wish  I  had  the  whipping  of  him,"  growled 
Halliwell,  who  was  of  a  generous  nature. 

"For  what  business  had  she,"  continued  Dave  right- 
eously, "to  meddle  in  other  folks'  business?  She's  no 
a  Thrums  lassie,  and  so  I  say,  'Let  the  law  take  its 
course  on  her. '  " 

"Will  you  listen  to  such  a  cur,  Riach?"  asked  Halli- 
well. 

"  Certainly.     Speak  out,  Langlands. " 

"  Weel,  then,  I  was  in  the  windmill  the  nicht." 

"  You  were  a  watcher?" 

"  I  happened  to  be  in  the  windmill  wi'  another  man, " 
Dave  went  on,  avoiding  the  officer's  question. 

"What  was  his  name?"  demanded  Halliwell. 


of  cbruma.  67 

"  It  was  the  Egyptian  I  was  to  tell  you  about,"  Dave 
said,  looking  to  the  sheriff. 

"Ah,  yes,  you  only  tell  tales  about  women,"  said 
Halliwell. 

"Strange  women,"  corrected  Dave.  "Weel,  we  was 
there,  and  it  would  maybe  be  twal  o'clock,  and  we  was 
speaking  (but  about  lawful  things)  when  we  heard  some 
ane  running  yont  the  road.  I  keeked  through  a  hole  in 
the  door,  and  I  saw  it  was  an  Egyptian  lassie  'at  I  had 
never  clapped  een  on  afore.  She  saw  the  licht  in  the 
window,  and  she  cried,  'Hie,  you  billies  in  the  wind- 
mill, the  sojers  is  coming!'  I  fell  in  a  fricht,  but  the 
other  man  opened  the  door,  and  again  she  cries,  'The 
sojers  is  coming;  quick,  or  you'll  be  ta'en. '  At  that 
the  other  man  up  wi'  his  bonnet  and  ran,  but  I  didna 
make  off  so  smart." 

"You  had  to  pick  yourself  up  first,"  suggested  the 
officer. 

"  Sal,  it  was  the  lassie  picked  me  up ;  ay,  and  she 
picked  up  a  horn  at  the  same  time." 

"'Blaw  on  that, '  she  cried,  'and  alarm  the  town.' 
But,  sheriff,  I  didna  do't.  Na,  I  had  ower  muckle  re- 
spect for  the  law." 

44  In  other  words,"  said  Halliwell,  "you  also  bolted, 
and  left  the  gypsy  to  blow  the  horn  herself. " 

"  I  dinna  deny  but  what  I  made  my  feet  my  friend, 
but  it  wasna  her  that  blew  the  horn.  I  ken  that,  for  I 
looked  back  and  saw  her  trying  to  do't,  but  she  couldna, 
she  didna  ken  the  way." 

"  Then  who  did  blow  it?" 

"  The  first  man  she  met,  I  suppose.  We  a'  kent  that 
the  horn  was  to  be  the  signal  except  Wearywarld.  He's 
police,  so  we  kept  it  frae  him." 

"That  is  all  you  saw  of  the  woman?" 

"  Ay,  for  I  ran  straucht  to  my  garret,  and  there  your 
men  took  me.  Can  I  gae  hame  now,  sheriff?" 

*'  No,  you  cannot.    Describe  the  woman's  appearance. " 


58  trbe  Xittle  Minister. 

"  She  had  a  heap  o'  rowan  berries  stuck  in  her  hair, 
and,  I  think,  she  had  on  a  green  wrapper  and  a  red 
shawl.  She  had  a  most  extraordinary  face.  I  canna 
exact  describe  it,  for  she  would  be  lauchin'  one  second 
and  syne  solemn  the  next.  I  tell  you  her  face  changed 
as  quick  as  you  could  turn  the  pages  o'  a  book.  Ay. 
here  comes  Wearywarld  to  speak  up  for  me." 

Wearyworld  entered  cheerfully. 

"This  is  the  local  policeman,"  a  Tilliedrum  officer 
said;  "we  have  been  searching  for  him  everywhere, 
and  only  found  him  now." 

"Where  have  you  been?"  asked  the  sheriff,  wrath- 
fully. 

"Whaur  maist  honest  men  is  at  this  hour,"  replied 
Wearyworld ;  "  in  my  bed. " 

"  How  dared  you  ignore  your  duty  at  such  a  time?" 

"It's  a  long  story,"  the  policeman  answered,  pleas- 
antly, in  anticipation  of  a  talk  at  last. 

"  Answer  me  in  a  word. " 

"  In  a  word !"  cried  the  policeman,  quite  crestfallen. 
"  It  canna  be  done.  You'll  need  to  cross-examine  me, 
too.  It's  my  lawful  richt." 

"I'll  take  you  to  the  Tilliedrum  gaol  for  your  share 
in  this  night's  work  if  you  do  not  speak  to  the  purpose. 
Why  did  you  not  hasten  to  our  assistance?" 

"  As  sure  as  death  I  never  kent  you  was  here.  I  was 
up  the  Roods  on  my  rounds  when  I  heard  an  awfu*  din 
down  in  the  square,  and  thinks  I,  there's  rough  char- 
acters about,  and  the  place  for  honest  folk  is  their  bed. 
So  to  my  bed  I  gaed,  and  I  was  in't  when  your  men 
gripped  me." 

"We  must  see  into  this  before  we  leave.  In  the 
meantime  you  will  act  as  a  guide  to  my  searchers. 
Stop!  Do  you  know  anything  of  this  Egyptian?" 

"What  Egyptian?  Is't  a  lassie  wi'  rowans  in  her 
hair?" 

*'  The  same.     Have  you  seen  her?" 


"  WHY  DON'T  YOU  LOOK  AT  ME  y  "  ASKED  HAXX.IWELL. 


Bma3on0  of  tTbtums.  5d 

"That  I  have.  There's  nothing  agin  her,  is  there? 
Whatever  it  is,  I'll  uphaud  she  didna  do't,  for  a  sim- 
pler, franker-spoken  crittur  couldna  be." 

"  Never  mind  what  I  want  her  for.  When  did  you 
see  her?" 

"  It  would  be  about  twal  o'clock,"  began  Wearyworld 
unctuously,  "when  I  was  in  the  Roods,  ay,  no  lang 
afore  I  heard  the  disturbance  in  the  square.  I  was 
standing  in  the  middle  o'  the  road,  wondering  how  the 
door  o'  the  windmill  was  swinging  open,  when  she 
came  up  to  me. 

" 'A  fine  nicht  for  the  time  o'  year,'  I  says  to  her,  for 
nobody  but  the  minister  had  spoken  to  me  a'  day. 

"'A  very  fine  nicht,'  says  she,  very  frank,  though  she 
was  breathing  quick  like  as  if  she  had  been  running. 
'You'll  be  police?'  says  she. 

"  'I  am,'  says  I,  'and  wha  be  you?' 

"  'I'm  just  a  puir  gypsy  lassie, '  she  says. 

"'And  what's  that  in  your  hand?'  says  I. 

"  'It's  a  horn  I  found  in  the  wood,'  says  she,  'but  it's 
rusty  and  winna  blaw. ' 

"  I  laughed  at  her  ignorance,  and  says  I,  '  I  warrant  I 
could  blaw  it. ' 

" 'I  dinna  believe  you,'  says  she. 

"  'Gie  me  haud  o't, '  says  I,  and  she  gae  it  to  me,  and  I 
blew  some  bonny  blasts  on't.  Ay,  you  see  she  didna  ken 
the  way  o't.  'Thank  you  kindly,'  says  she,  and  she  ran 
awa  without  even  minding  to  take  the  horn  back  again. " 

"You  incredible  idiot!"  cried  the  sheriff.  "Then  it 
was  you  who  gave  the  alarm?" 

"What  hae  I  done  to  madden  you?"  honest  Weary- 
world  asked  in  perplexity. 

"Get  out  of  my  sight,  sir!"  roared  the  sheriff. 

But  the  captain  laughed. 

"I  like  your  doughty  policeman,  Riach,"  he  said. 
"  Hie,  obliging  friend,  let  us  hear  how  this  gypsy  struck 
you.  How  was  she  dressed?" 


«o  ttbe  Xittle  Afnfeter. 

"She  was  snod,  but  no  unca  snod,"  replied  Weary, 
world,  stiffly. 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  I  mean  she  was  couthie,  but  no  sair  in  order." 

"  What  on  earth  is  that?" 

"  Weel,  a  tasty  stocky,  but  gey  orra  put  on." 

"  What  language  are  you  speaking,  you  enigma?" 

"I'm  saying  she  was  naturally  a  bonny  bit  kimmer 
rather  than  happit  up  to  the  nines. " 

"Oh,  go  away,"  cried  Halliwell;  whereupon  Weary- 
world  descended  the  stair  haughtily,  declaring  that  the 
sheriff  was  an  unreasonable  man,  and  that  he  was  a 
queer  captain  who  did  not  understand  the  English 
language. 

"Can  I  gae  hame  now,  sheriff?"  asked  Langlands, 
hopefully. 

"Take  this  fellow  back  to  his  cell,"  Riach  directed 
shortly,  "  and  whatever  else  you  do,  see  that  yc  i  cap- 
ture this  woman.  Halliwell,  I  am  going  out  to  look 
for  her  mj'self.  Confound  it,  what  are  you  laughing 
at?" 

"At  the  way  this  vixen  has  slipped  through  your 
fingers. " 

"Not  quite  that,  sir,  not  quite  that.  She  is  in 
Thrums  still,  and  I  swear  I'll  have  her  before  day 
breaks.  See  to  it,  Halliwell,  that  if  she  is  brought 
here  in  my  absence  she  does  not  slip  through  your 
fingers. " 

"If  she  is  brought  here,"  said  Halliwell,  mocking 
him,  "you  must  return  and  protect  me.  It  would  be 
cruelty  to  leave  a  poor  soldier  in  the  hands  of  a  woman 
of  Thrums." 

"  She  is  not  a  Thrums  woman.  You  have  been  told 
so  a  dozen  times." 

"Then  I  am  not  afraid." 

In  the  round-room  (which  is  oblong)  there  is  a  throne 
on  which  the  bailie  sits  when  he  dispenses  justice.  It 


ama3ons  of  Cbrums.  81 

is  swathed  in  red  cloths  that  give  it  the  appearance  of  a 
pulpit.  Left  to  himself,  Halliwell  flung  off  his  cloak 
and  taking  a  chair  near  this  dais  rested  his  legs  on  the 
bare  wooden  table,  one  on  each  side  of  the  lamp.  He 
was  still  in  this  position  when  the  door  opened,  and  two 
policemen  thrust  the  Egyptian  into  the  room. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

HAS   THE   FOLLY  OF   LOOKING   INTO   A   WOMAN'S   EYES   BY 
WAY  OF  TEXT. 

"THIS  is  the  woman,  captain,"  one  of  the  policemen 
said  in  triumph ;  "  and,  begging  your  pardon,  will  you 
keep  a  grip  of  her  till  the  sheriff  comes  back?" 

Halliwell  did  not  turn  his  head. 

"You  can  leave  her  here,"  he  said  carelessly. 
"  Three  of  us  are  not  needed  to  guard  a  woman. " 

"  But  she's  a  slippery  customer." 

"You  can  go,"  said  Halliwell;  and  the  policemen 
withdrew  slowly,  eyeing  their  prisoner  doubtfully  until 
the  door  closed.  Then  the  officer  wheeled  round  lan- 
guidly, expecting  to  find  the  Egyptian  gaunt  and 
muscnlar. 

"  Now  then,"  he  drawled,  "  why By  Jove !" 

The  gallant  soldier  was  as  much  taken  aback  as  if  he 
had  turned  to  find  a  pistol  at  his  ear.  He  took  his  feet 
off  the  table.  Yet  he  only  saw  the  gypsy's  girlish  fig- 
ure in  its  red  and  green,  for  she  had  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  She  was  looking  at  him  intently  be- 
tween her  fingers,  but  he  did  not  know  this.  All  he 
did  want  to  know  just  then  was  what  was  behind  the 
hands. 

Before  he  spoke  again  she  had  perhaps  made  up  her 
mind  about  him,  for  she  began  to  sob  bitterly.  At  the 
same  time  she  slipped  a  finger  over  her  ring. 

"Why  don't  you  look  at  me?"  asked  Halliwell, 
selfishly. 

"Idaurna," 


»  THUoman's 

"Am  I  so  fearsome?" 

"You're  a  sojer,  and  you  would  shoot  me  like  a 
craw. " 

Halliwell  laughed,  and  taking  her  wrists  in  his  hands, 
uncovered  her  face. 

"Oh,  by  Jove!"  he  said  again,  but  this  time  to 
himself. 

As  for  the  Egyptian,  she  slid  the  ring  into  her  pocket, 
and  fell  back  before  the  officer's  magnificence. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "is  all  sojers  like  you?" 

There  was  such  admiration  in  her  eyes  that  it  would 
have  been  self-contempt  to  doubt  her.  Yet  having 
smiled  complacently,  Halliwell  became  uneasy. 

"Who  on  earth  are  you?"  he  asked,  finding  it  wise 
not  to  look  her  in  the  face.  "  Why  do  you  not  answer 
me  more  quickly?" 

"Dinna  be  angry  at  that,  captain,"  the  Egyptian  im- 
plored. "  I  promised  my  mither  aye  to  count  twenty 
afore  I  spoke,  because  she  thocht  I  was  ower  glib. 
Captain,  how  is't  that  you're  so  fleid  to  look  at  me?" 

Thus  put  on  his  mettle,  Halliwell  again  faced  her, 
with  the  result  that  his  question  changed  to  "  Where 
did  you  get  those  eyes?"  Then  was  he  indignant  with 
himself. 

"What  I  want  to  know,"  he  explained  severely,  "is 
how  you  were  able  to  acquaint  the  Thrums  people  with 
our  movements?  That  you  must  tell  me  at  once,  for 
the  sheriff  blames  my  soldiers.  Come  now,  no  count- 
ing twenty!" 

He  was  pacing  the  room  now,  and  she  had  her  face 
to  herself.  It  said  several  things,  among  them  that  the 
officer  evidently  did  not  like  this  charge  against  his 
men. 

"  Does  the  shirra  blame  the  sojers?"  exclaimed  this 
quick-witted  Egyptian.  "Weel,  that  cows,  for  he  has 
nane  to  blame  but  himsel'." 

"What!"   cried   Halliwell,  delighted.     "It  was  the 


64  Cbe  Xittlc  Minister. 

sheriff  who  told  tales?  Answer  me.  You  are  counting 
a  hundred  this  time." 

Perhaps  the  gypsy  had  two  reasons  for  withholding 
ner  answer.  If  so,  one  of  them  was  that  as  the  sheriff 
had  told  nothing,  she  had  a  story  to  make  up.  The 
other  was  that  she  wanted  to  strike  a  bargain  with  the 
officer. 

"If  I  tell  you,"  she  said  eagerly,  "will  you  set  me 
free?" 

"  I  may  ask  the  sheriff  to  do  so." 

"But  he  mauna  see  me,"  the  Egyptian  said  in  dis- 
tress. "There's  reasons,  captain." 

"  Why,  surely  you  have  not  been  before  him  on  other 
occasions,"  said  Halliwell,  surprised. 

"  No  in  the  way  you  mean,"  muttered  the  gypsy,  and 
for  the  moment  her  eyes  twinkled.  But  the  light  in 
them  went  out  when  she  remembered  that  the  sheriff 
was  near,  and  she  looked  desperately  at  the  window  as 
if  ready  to  fling  herself  from  it.  She  had  very  good 
reasons  for  not  wishing  to  be  seen  by  Riach,  though 
fear  that  he  would  put  her  in  gaol  was  not  one  of  them. 

Halliwell  thought  it  was  the  one  cause  of  her  woe, 
and  great  was  his  desire  to  turn  the  tables  on  the  sheriff. 

"Tell  me  the  truth,"  he  said,  "and  I  promise  to  be- 
friend you." 

"Weel,  then,"  the  gypsy  said,  hoping  still  to  soften 
his  heart,  and  making  up  her  story  as  she  told  it,  "  yes- 
treen I  met  the  shirra,  and  he  telled  me  a'  I  hae  telled 
the  Thrums  folk  this  nicht." 

"  You  can  scarcely  expect  me  to  believe  that.  Where 
did  you  meet  him?" 

"  In  Glen  Quharity.     He  was  riding  on  a  horse." 

"Well,  I  allow  he  was  there  yesterday,  and  on  horse- 
back. He  was  on  his  way  back  to  Tilliedrum  from 
Lord  Rintoul's  place.  But  don't  tell  me  that  he  took 
a  gypsy  girl  into  his  confidence." 

"Ay,  he  did,  without  kenning.     He  was  gieing  his 


a  Woman's  Bse0.  65 

horse  a  drink  when  I  met  him,  and  he  let  me  tell  him 
his  fortune.  He  said  he  would  gaol  me  for  an  impostor 
if  I  didna  tell  him  true,  so  I  gaed  about  it  cautiously, 
and  after  a  minute  or  twa  I  telled  him  he  was  coming 
to  Thrums  the  nicht  to  nab  the  rioters." 

"You  are  trifling  with  me,"  interposed  the  indignant 
soldier.  "  You  promised  to  tell  me  not  what  you  said  to 
the  sheriff,  but  how  he  disclosed  our  movements  to  you." 

"And  that's  just  what  I  am  telling  you,  only  you 
hinna  the  rumelgumption  to  see  it.  How  do  you  think 
fortunes  is  telled?  First  we  get  out  o'  the  man,  with- 
out his  seeing  what  we're  after,  a'  about  himsel',  and 
syne  we  repeat  it  to  him.  That's  what  I  did  wi'  the 
shirra." 

"  You  drew  the  whole  thing  out  of  him  without  his 
knowing?" 

"  'Deed  I  did,  and  he  rode  awa'  saying  I  was  a  witch." 

The  soldier  heard  with  the  delight  of  a  schoolboy. 

"  Now  if  the  sheriff  does  not  liberate  you  at  my  re- 
quest," he  said,  "I  will  never  let  him  hear  the  end  of 
this  story.  He  was  right;  you  are  a  witch.  You  de- 
ceived the  sheriff;  yes,  undoubtedly  you  are  a  witch." 

He  looked  at  her  with  fun  in  his  face,  but  the  fun 
disappeared,  and  a  wondering  admiration  took  its  place. 

"  By  Jove!"  he  said,  "  I  don't  wonder  you  bewitched 
the  sheriff.  I  must  take  care  or  you  will  bewitch  the 
captain,  too." 

At  this  notion  he  smiled,  but  he  also  ceased  looking 
at  her.  Suddenly  the  Egyptian  again  began  to  cry. 

"You're  angry  wi'  me,"  she  sobbed.  "I  wish  I  had 
never  set  een  on  you." 

"Why  do  you  wish  that?"  Halliwell  asked. 

"  Fine  you  ken,"  she  answered,  and  again  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

He  looked  at  her  undecidedly 

"I  am  not  angry  with  you,"  he  said,  gently.     "You 
are  an  extraordinary  girl." 
5 


86  Sbe  Xittle  flMnteter. 

Had  he  really  made  a  conquest  of  this  beautiful  crea- 
ture? Her  words  said  so,  but  had  he?  The  captain 
could  not  make  up  his  mind.  He  gnawed  his  mous- 
tache in  doubt. 

There  was  silence,  save  for  the  Egyptian's  sobs. 
Hall i well's  heart  was  touched,  and  he  drew  nearer  her. 

"  My  poor  girl " 

He  stopped.  Was  she  crying?  Was  she  not  laugh- 
ing at  him  rather?  He  became  red. 

The  gypsy  peeped  at  him  between  her  fingers,  and 
saAV  that  he  was  of  two  minds.  She  let  her  hands  fall 
from  her  face,  and  undoubtedly  there  were  tears  on  her 
cheeks. 

"If  you're  no  angry  wi'  me,"  she  said,  sadly,  "how 
will  you  no  look  at  me?" 

"  I  am  looking  at  you  now. " 

He  was  very  close  to  her,  and  staring  into  her  won- 
derful eyes.  I  am  older  than  the  Captain,  and  those 
eyes  have  dazzled  me. 

"Captain  dear." 

She  put  her  hand  in  his.  His  chest  rose.  He  knew 
she  was  seeking  to  beguile  him,  but  he  could  not  take 
his  eyes  off  hers.  He  was  in  a  worse  plight  than  a 
woman  listening  to  the  first  whisper  of  love. 

Now  she  was  further  from  him,  but  the  spell  held. 
She  reached  the  door,  without  taking  her  eyes  from  his 
face.  For  several  seconds  he  had  been  as  a  man  mes- 
merised. 

Just  in  time  he  came  to.  It  was  when  she  turned 
from  him  to  find  the  handle  of  the  door.  She  was  turn- 
ing it  when  his  hand  fell  on  hers  so  suddenly  that  she 
screamed.  He  twisted  her  round. 

"Sit  down  there,"  he  said  hoarsely,  pointing  to  the 
chair  upon  which  he  had  flung  his  cloak.  She  dared 
not  disobey.  Then  he  leant  against  the  door,  his  back 
to  her,  for  just  then  he  wanted  no  one  to  see  his  face. 
The  gypsy  sat  very  still  and  a  little  frightened. 


Woman's  je^es.  «7 


Halliwell  opened  the  door  presently,  and  called  to 
the  soldier  on  duty  below. 

"  Davidson,  see  if  you  can  find  the  sheriff.  I  want 
him.  And  Davidson  -  " 

The  captain  paused. 

"Yes,"  he  muttered,  and  the  old  soldier  marvelled  at 
his  words,  "it  is  better.  Davidson,  lock  this  door  on 
the  outside.  " 

Davidson  did  as  he  was  ordered,  and  again  the  Egyp- 
tian was  left  alone  with  Halliwell. 

"Afraid  of  a  woman!"  she  said,  contemptuously, 
though  her  heart  sank  when  she  heard  the  key  turn  in 
the  lock. 

"I  admit  it,"  he  answered,  calmly. 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  and  she  sat  silently 
watching  him. 

"That  story  of  yours  about  the  sheriff  was  not  true," 
he  said  at  last. 

"I  suspect  it  wasna,"  answered  the  Egyptian  coolly. 
"  Hae  you  been  thinking  about  it  a*  this  time?  Captainv 
I  could  tell  you  what  you're  thinking  now.  You'rt> 
wishing  it  had  been  true,  so  that  the  ane  o'  you  couldna 
lauch  at  the  other." 

"Silence!"  said  the  captain,  and  not  another  word 
would  he  speak  until  he  heard  the  sheriff  coming  up 
the  stair.  The  Egyptian  trembled  at  his  step,  and  rose 
in  desperation. 

"  Why  is  the  door  locked?"  cried  the  sheriff,  shaking 
it. 

"  All  right,"  answered  Halliwell  ;  "  the  key  is  on  your 
side." 

At  that  moment  the  Egyptian  knocked  the  lamp  off 
the  table,  and  the  room  was  at  once  in  darkness.  The 
officer  sprang  at  her,  and,  catching  her  by  the  skirt, 
held  on. 

"Why  are  you  in  darkness?"  asked  the  sheriff,  as  he 
entered. 


88  Gbe  Xittle  flfctnfster. 

"Shut  the  door,"  cried  Halliwell.  "Put  your  back 
to  it." 

"  Don't  tell  me  the  woman  has  escaped?" 

"  I  have  her,  I  have  her !  She  capsized  the  lamp,  the 
little  jade.  Shut  the  door." 

Still  keeping  firm  hold  of  her,  as  he  thought,  the 
captain  relit  the  lamp  with  his  other  hand.  It  showed 
an  extraordinary  scene.  The  door  was  shut,  and  the 
sheriff  was  guarding  it.  Halliwell  was  clutching  the 
cloth  of  the  bailie's  seat.  There  was  no  Egyptian. 

A  moment  passed  before  either  man  found  his  tongue. 

"Open  the  door.     After  her!"  cried  Halliwell. 

But  the  door  would  not  open.  The  Egyptian  had  fled 
and  locked  it  behind  her. 

What  the  two  men  said  to  each  other,  it  would  not  be 
fitting  to  tell.  When  Davidson,  who  had  been  gossip- 
ing at  the  corner  of  the  town-house,  released  his  captain 
and  the  sheriff,  the  gypsy  had  been  gone  for  some 
minutes. 

"  But  she  shan't  escape  us,"  Riach  cried,  and  hastened 
out  to  assist  in  the  pursuit. 

Halliwell  was  in  such  a  furious  temper  that  he  called 
up  Davidson  and  admonished  him  for  neglect  of  duty. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

3  A.M.— MONSTROUS  AUDACITY  OF  THE  WOMAN. 

NOT  till  the  stroke  of  three  did  Gavin  turn  homeward, 
with  the  legs  of  a  ploughman,  and  eyes  rebelling  against 
over- work.  Seeking  to  comfort  his  dejected  people, 
whose  courage  lay  spilt  on  the  brae,  he  had  been  in  as 
many  houses  as  the  policemen.  The  soldiers  inarching 
through  the  wynds  came  frequently  upon  him,  and 
found  it  hard  to  believe  that  he  was  always  the  same 
one.  They  told  afterwards  that  Thrums  was  remark- 
able for  the  ferocity  of  its  women,  and  the  number  of 
its  little  ministers.  The  morning  was  nipping  cold, 
and  the  streets  were  deserted,  for  the  people  had  been 
ordered  within  doors.  As  he  crossed  the  Roods,  Gavin 
saw  a  gleam  of  red-coats.  In  the  back  wynd  he  heard 
a  bugle  blown.  A  stir  in  the  Banker's  close  spoke  of 
another  seizure.  At  the  top  of  the  school  wynd  two 
policeman,  of  whom  one  was  Wearyworld,  stopped  the 
minister  with  the  flash  of  a  lantern. 

"We  dauredna  let  you  pass,  sir,"  the  Tilliedrum  man 
said,  "  without  a  good  look  at  you.  That's  the  orders. " 

"I  hereby  swear,"  said  Wearyworld,  authoritatively, 
"that  this  is  no  the  Egyptian.  Signed,  Peter  Spens, 
policeman,  called  by  the  vulgar,  Wearyworld.  Mr. 
Dishart,  you  can  pass,  unless  you'll  bide  a  wee  and  gie 
us  your  crack. " 

"You  have  not  found  the  gypsy,  then?"  Gavin  asked. 

"No,"  the  other  policeman  said,  "but  we  ken  she's 
within  cry  o'  this  very  spot,  and  escape  she  canna." 

"  What  mortal  man  can  do,"  Wearyworld  said,  "  we're 


70  cbe  Xittlc  /BMntstcr. 

doing:  ay,  and  mair,  but  she's  auld  wecht,  and  may 
find  bilbie  in  queer  places.  Mr.  Dishart,  my  official 
opinion  is  that  this  Egyptian  is  fearsomely  like  my 
snuff-spoon.  I've  kent  me  drap  that  spoon  on  the  fen- 
der, and  be  beat  to  find  it  in  an  hour.  And  yet,  a'  the 
time  I  was  sure  it  was  there.  This  is  a  gey  mysterious 
world,  and  women's  the  uncanniest  things  in't.  It's 
hardly  mous  to  think  how  uncanny  they  are. " 

"This  one  deserves  to  be  punished,"  Gavin  said, 
firmly ;  "  she  incited  the  people  to  riot.  " 

"She  did,"  agreed  Weary  world,  who  was  supping 
ravenously  on  sociability ;  "  ay,  she  even  tried  her  tricks 
on  me,  so  that  them  that  kens  no  better  thinks  she 
fooled  me.  But  she's  cracky.  To  gie  her  her  due, 
she's  cracky,  and  as  for  her  being  a  cuttie,  you've  said 
yoursel,  Mr.  Dishart,  that  we're  all  desperately  wicked. 
But  we're  sair  tried.  Has  it  ever  struck  you  that  the 
trouts  bites  best  on  the  Sabbath?  God's  critturs  tempt- 
ing decent  men. " 

"  Come  alang, "  cried  the  Tilliedrum  man,  impatiently. 

"I'm  coming,  but  I  maun  give  Mr.  Dishart  permis- 
sion to  pass  first.  Hae  you  heard,  Mr.  Dishart,"  Weary- 
world  whispered,  "  that  the  Egyptian  diddled  baith  the 
captain  and  the  shirra?  It's  my  official  opinion  that 
she's  no  better  than  a  roasted  onion,  the  which,  if  you 
grip  it  firm,  jumps  out  o*  sicht,  leaving  its  coat  in 
your  fingers.  Mr.  Dishart,  you  can  pass." 

The  policeman  turned  down  the  school  wynd,  and 
Gavin,  who  had  already  heard  exaggerated  accounts  of 
the  strange  woman's  escape  from  the  town-house,  pro- 
ceeded along  the  Tenements.  He  walked  in  the  black 
shadows  of  the  houses,  though  across  the  way  there  was 
the  morning  light. 

In  tal'king  of  the  gypsy,  the  little  minister  had,  as.  it 
were,  put  on  the  black  cap ;  but  now,  even  though  he 
shook  his  head  angrily  with  every  thought  of  her,  the 
scene  in  Windyghoul  glimmered  before  his  eyes 


of  tbc  THlomatu  71 

Sometimes  when  he  meant  to  frown  he  only  sighed, 
and  then  having  sighed  he  shook  himself.  He  was 
unpleasantly  conscious  of  his  right  hand,  which  had 
flung  the  divit.  Ah,  she  was  shameless,  and  it  would 
be  a  bright  day  for  Thrums  that  saw  the  last  of  her. 

He  hoped  the  policemen  would  succeed  in .  It  was 

the  gladsomeness  of  innocence  that  he  had  seen  dancing 
in  the  moonlight.  A  mere  woman  could  not  be  like 

that.  How  soft .  And  she  had  derided  him ;  he, 

the  Auld  Licht  minister  of  Thrums,  had  been  flouted 
before  his  people  by  a  hussy.  She  was  without  rever- 
ence, she  knew  no  difference  between  an  Auld  Licht 
minister,  whose  duty  it  was  to  speak  and  hers  to  listen, 

and  herself.  This  woman  deserved  to  be .  And 

the  look  she  cast  behind  her  as  she  danced  and  sang! 
It  was  sweet,  so  wistful;  the  presence  of  purity  had 
silenced  him.  Purity!  Who  had  made  him  fling  that 
divit?  He  would  think  no  more  of  her.  Let  it  suffice 
that  he  knew  what  she  was.  He  would  put  her  from 
his  thoughts.  Was  it  a  ring  on  her  finger? 

Fifty  yards  in  front  of  him  Gavin  saw  the  road  end  in 
a  wall  of  soldiers.  They  were  between  him  and  the 
manse,  and  he  was  still  in  darkness.  No  sound  reached 
him,  save  the  echo  of  his  own  feet.  But  was  it  an  echo? 
He  stopped,  and  turned  round  sharply.  Now  he  heard 
nothing,  he  saw  nothing.  Yet  was  not  that  a  human 
figure  standing  motionless  in  the  shadow  behind? 

He  walked  on,  and  again  heard  the  sound.  Again  he 
looked  behind,  but  this  time  without  stopping.  The 
figure  was  following  him.  He  stopped.  So  did  it. 
He  turned  back,  but  it  did  not  move.  It  was  the 
Egyptian ! 

Gavin  knew  her,  despite  the  lane  of  darkness,  despite 
the  long  cloak  that  now  concealed  even  her  feet,  despite 
the  hood  over  her  head.  She  was  looking  quite  respect- 
able, but  he  knew  her. 

He  neither  advanced  to  her  nor  retreated.     Could 


?2  fcbe  little  /ftinfster. 

the  unhappy  girl  not  see  that  she  was  walking  into  the 
arms  of  the  soldiers?  But  doubtless  she  had  been  driven 
from  all  her  hiding-places.  For  a  moment  Gavin  had 
it  in  his  heart  to  warn  her.  But  it  was  only  for  a 
moment.  The  next  a  sudden  horror  shot  through  him. 
She  was  stealing  toward  him,  so  softly  that  he  had  not 
seen  her  start.  The  woman  had  designs  on  him! 
Gavin  turned  from  her.  He  walked  so  quickly  that 
judges  would  have  said  he  ran. 

The  soldiers,  I  have  said,  stood  in  the  dim  light. 
Gavin  had  almost  reached  them,  when  a  little  hand 
touched  his  arm. 

"Stop, "cried  the  sergeant,  hearing  some  one  ap- 
proaching, and  then  Gavin  stepped  out  of  the  darkness 
with  the  gypsy  on  his  arm. 

"It  is  you,  Mr.  Dishart,"  said  the  sergeant,  "and 
your  lady?" 

"I ."said  Gavin. 

His  lady  pinched  his  arm. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  in  an  elegant  English  voice 
that  made  Gavin  stare  at  her,  "  but,  indeed,  I  am  sorry 
I  ventured  into  the  streets  to-night.  I  thought  I  might 
be  able  to  comfort  some  of  these  unhappy  people,  cap- 
tain, but  I  could  do  little,  sadly  little." 

"  It  is  no  scene  for  a  lady,  ma'am,  but  your  husband 
has .  Did  you  speak,  Mr.  Dishart?" 

"  Yes,  I  must  inf " 

"My  dear,"  said  the  Egyptian,  "I  quite  agree  with 
you,  so  we  need  not  detain  the  captain." 

"I'm  only  a  sergeant,  ma'am." 

"Indeed!"  said  the  Egyptian,  raising  her  pretty  eye- 
brows, "and  how  long  are  you  to  remain  in  Thrums, 
sergeant?" 

"  Only  for  a  few  hours,  Mrs.  Dishart.  If  this  gypsy 
lassie  had  not  given  us  so  much  trouble,  we  might  hare 
been  gone  by  now. " 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  hope  you  will  catch  her,  sergeant " 


Su&acitg  of  tbe  "CCloman.  78 

"Sergeant,"  said  Gavin,  firmly,  "I  must " 

"You  must,  indeed,  dear,"  said  the  Egyptian,  "for 
you  are  sadly  tired.  Good-night,  sergeant." 

"  Your  servant,  Mrs.  Dishart.     Your  servant,  sir. " 

"But ,"  cried  Gavin. 

"Come,  love,"  said  the  Egyptian,  and  she  walked  the 
distracted  minister  through  the  soldiers  and  up  the 
manse  road. 

The  soldiers  left  behind,  Gavin  flung  her  arm  from 
him,  and,  standing  still,  shook  his  fist  in  her  face. 

"You — you — woman!"  he  said. 

This,  I  think,  was  the  last  time  he  called  her  a  woman. 

But  she  was  clapping  her  hands  merrily. 

"  It  was  beautiful !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  It  was  iniquitous !"  he  answered.  "  And  I  a 
minister!" 

"You  can't  help  that,"  said  the  Egyptian,  who  pitied 
all  ministers  heartily. 

"No, "Gavin  said,  misunderstanding  her,  "I  could 
not  help  it.  No  blame  attaches  to  me." 

"  I  meant  that  you  could  not  help  being  a  minister. 
You  could  have  helped  saving  me,  and  I  thank  you  so 
much." 

"  Do  not  dare  to  thank  me.  I  forbid  you  to  say  that 
I  saved  you.  I  did  my  best  to  hand  you  over  to  the 
authorities." 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  hand  me  over?" 

Gavin  groaned. 

"All  you  had  to  say,"  continued  the  merciless  Egyp- 
tian, "was,  'This  is  the  person  you  are  in  search  of.'  I 
did  not  have  my  hand  over  your  mouth.  Why  did  you 
not  say  it?" 

"Forbear!"  said  Gavin,  woefully. 

"It  must  have  been,"  the  gypsy  said,  "because  you 
really  wanted  to  help  me. " 

"Then  it  was  against  my  better  judgment,"  said 
Gavin. 


/4  (Tbe  Xtttle  dfcinteter. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  the  gypsy.  "Mr.  Dishart, 
I  do  believe  you  like  me  all  the  time." 

"Can  a  man  like  a  woman  against  his  will?"  Gavin 
blurted  out. 

"Of  course  he  can,"  said  the  Egyptian,  speaking  as 
one  who  knew.  "  That  is  the  very  nicest  way  to  be  liked. " 

Seeing  how  agitated  Gavin  was,  remorse  filled  her, 
and  she  said  in  a  wheedling  voice — 

"  It  is  all  over,  and  no  one  will  know." 

Passion  sat  on  the  minister's  brow,  but  he  said  noth- 
ing, for  the  gypsy's  face  had  changed  with  her  voice, 
and  the  audacious  woman  was  become  a  child. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said,  as  if  he  had  caught  her 
stealing  jam.  The  hood  had  fallen  back,  and  she  looked 
pleadingly  at  him.  She  had  the  appearance  of  one  who 
was  entirely  in  his  hands. 

There  was  a  torrent  of  words  in  Gavin,  but  only  these 
trickled  forth — 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  You  are  not  angry  any  more?"  pleaded  the  Egyp- 
tian. 

"Angry!"  he  cried,  with  the  righteous  rage  of  one 
who  when  his  leg  is  being  sawn  off  is  asked  gently  if  it 
hurts  him. 

"I  know  you  are,"  she  sighed,  and  the  sigh  meant 
that  men  are  strange. 

"  Have  you  no  respect  for  law  and  order?"  demanded 
Gavin. 

"Not  much,"  she  answered,  honestly. 

He  looked  down  the  road  to  where  the  red-coats  were 
still  visible,  and  his  face  became  hard.  She  read  his 
thoughts. 

"No,"  she  said,  becoming  a  woman  again,  "it  is  not 
yet  too  late.  Why  don't  you  shout  to  them?" 

She  was  holding  herself  like  a  queen,  but  there  was 
no  stiffness  in  her.  They  might  have  been  a  pair  of 
lovers,  and  she  the  wronged  one.  Again  she  looked 


BuDacfts  of  tbe  TOloman.  75 

timidly  at  him,  and  became  beautiful  in  a  new  way. 
Her  eyes  said  that  he  was  very  cruel,  and  she  was  only 
keeping  back  her  tears  till  he  had  gone.  More  danger- 
ous than  her  face  was  her  manner,  which  gave  Gavin 
the  privilege  of  making  her  unhappy;  it  permitted  him 
to  argue  with  her;  it  never  implied  that  though  he 
raged  at  her  he  must  stand  afar  off;  it  called  him  a 
bully,  but  did  not  end  the  conversation. 

Now  (but  perhaps  I  should  not  tell  this)  unless  she  is 
his  wife  a  man  is  shot  with  a  thrill  of  exultation  every 
time  a  pretty  woman  allows  him  to  upbraid  her. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  Gavin  repeated  weakly, 
and  the  gypsy  bent  her  head  under  this  terrible  charge. 

"Only  a  few  hours  ago,"  he  continued,  "you  were  a 
gypsy  girl  in  a  fantastic  dress,  barefooted — 

The  Egyptian's  bare  foot  at  once  peeped  out  mis- 
chievously from  beneath  the  cloak,  then  again  retired 
into  hiding. 

"You  spoke  as  broadly,"  complained  the  minister, 
somewhat  taken  aback  by  this  apparition,  "as  any 
woman  in  Thrums,  and  now  you  fling  a  cloak  over  your 
shoulders,  and  immediately  become  a  fine  lady.  Who 
are  you?" 

"Perhaps,"  answered  the  Egyptian,  "it  is  the  cloak 
that  has  bewitched  me."  She  slipped  out  of  it.  "Ay, 
ay,  ou  losh!"  she  said,  as  if  surprised,  "it  was  just  the 
cloak  that  did  it,  for  now  I'm  a  puir  ignorant  bit  lassie 
again.  My,  certie,  but  claithes  does  make  a  differ  to  a 
woman!" 

This  was  sheer  levity,  and  Gavin  walked  scornfully 
away  from  it. 

"Yet,  if  you  will  not  tell  me  who  you  are,"  he  said, 
looking  over  his  shoulder,  "  tell  me  where  you  got  the 
cloak." 

"Na  faags,"  replied  the  gypsy  out  of  the  cloak. 
"Really,  Mr.  Dishart,  you  had  better  not  ask,"  she 
added,  replacing  it  over  her. 


16  ttbe  Xittlc  Minister. 

She  followed  him,  meaning  to  gain  the  open  by  the 
fields  to  the  north  of  the  manse. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand,  "if  you 
are  not  to  give  me  up. " 

"  I  am  not  a  policeman,"  replied  Gavin,  but  he  would 
not  take  her  hand. 

"Surely,  we  part  friends,  then?"  said  the  Egyptian, 
sweetly. 

"No,"  Gavin  answered.  "I  hope  never  to  see  your 
face  again." 

"I  cannot  help,"  the  Egyptian  said,  with  dignity, 
"your  not  liking  my  face."  Then,  with  less  dignity, 
she  added,  "  There  is  a  splotch  of  mud  on  your  own,  lit- 
tle minister;  it  came  off  the  divit  you  flung  at  the 
captain. " 

With  this  parting  shot  she  tripped  past  him,  and 
Gavin  would  not  let  his  eyes  follow  her.  It  was  not 
the  mud  on  his  face  that  distressed  him,  nor  even  the 
hand  that  had  flung  the  divit.  It  was  the  word  "  little. " 
Though  even  Margaret  was  not  aware  of  it,  Gavin's 
shortness  had  grieved  him  all  his  life.  There  had  been 
times  when  he  tried  to  keep  the  secret  from  himself. 
In  his  boyhood  he  had  sought  a  remedy  by  getting  his 
larger  comrades  to  stretch  him.  In  the  company  of  tall 
men  he  was  always  self-conscious.  In  the  pulpit  he 
looked  darkly  at  his  congregation  when  he  asked  them 
who,  by  taking  thought,  could  add  a  cubit  to  his  stature. 
When  standing  on  a  hearthrug  his  heels  were  frequently 
on  the  fender.  In  his  bedroom  he  has  stood  on  a  foot- 
stool and  surveyed  himself  in  the  mirror.  Once  he 
fastened  high  heels  to  his  boots,  being  ashamed  to  ask 
Hendry  Munn  to  do  it  for  him;  but  this  dishonesty 
shamed  him,  and  he  tore  them  off.  So  the  Egyptian 
had  put  a  needle  into  his  pride,  and  he  walked  to  the 
manse  gloomily. 

Margaret  was  at  her  window,  looking  for  him,  and  he 
saw  her  though  she  did  not  see  him.  He  was  stepping 


SuBadtg  of  tbc  tCloman.  77 

into  the  middle  of  the  road  to  wave  his  hand  to  her, 
when  some  sudden  weakness  made  him  look  towards 
the  fields  instead.  The  Egyptian  saw  him  and  nodded 
thanks  for  his  interest  in  her,  but  he  scowled  and  pre- 
tended to  be  studying  the  sky.  Next  moment  he  saw 
her  running  back  to  him. 

"There  are  soldiers  at  the  top  of  the  field,"  she  cried. 
"  I  cannot  escape  that  way. " 

"  There  is  no  other  way,"  Gavin  answered. 

"  Will  you  not  help  me  again?"  she  entreated. 

She  should  not  have  said  "again."  Gavin  shook  his 
head,  but  pulled  her  closer  to  the  manse  dyke,  for  his 
mother  was  still  in  sight. 

"Why  do  you  do  that?"  the  girl  asked,  quickly,  look- 
ing round  to  see  if  she  were  pursued.  "Oh,  I  see,"  she 
said,  as  her  eyes  fell  on  the  figure  at  the  window. 

"It  is  my  mother,"  Gavin  said,  though  he  need  not 
have  explained,  unless  he  wanted  the  gypsy  to  know 
that  he  was  a  bachelor. 

"  Only  your  mother?" 

"Only!  Let  me  tell  you  she  may  suffer  more  than 
you  for  your  behaviour  to-night!" 

"  How  can  she?" 

"  If  you  are  caught,  will  it  not  be  discovered  that  I 
helped  you  to  escape?" 

"  But  you  said  you  did  not." 

"Yes,  I  helped  you,"  Gavin  admitted.  "My  God! 
what  would  my  congregation  say  if  they  knew  I  had  let 
you  pass  yourself  off  as — as  my  wife?" 

He  struck  his  brow,  and  the  Egyptian  had  the  pro- 
priety to  blush. 

"It  is  not  the  punishment  from  men  I  am  afraid  of," 
Gavin  said,  bitterly,  "but  from  my  conscience.  No, 
that  is  not  true.  I  do  fear  exposure,  but  for  my 
mother's  sake.  Look  at  her;  she  is  happy,  because 
she  thinks  me  good  and  true;  she  has  had  such  trials 
as  you  cannot  know  of,  and  now,  when  at  last  I  seemed 


79  abe  Xittle  Minister. 

able  to  do  something  for  her,  you  destroy  her  happi- 
ness. You  have  her  life  in  your  hands. " 

The  Egyptian  turned  her  back  upon  him,  and  one  of 
her  feet  tapped  angrily  on  the  dry  ground.  Then, 
child  of  impulse  as  she  always  was,  she  flashed  an  in- 
dignant glance  at  him,  and  walked  quickly  down  the 
road. 

"  Where  are  you  going?"  he  cried. 

"  To  give  myself  up.  You  need  not  be  alarmed ;  I 
will  clear  you." 

There  was  not  a  shake  in  her  voice,  and  she  spoke 
without  looking  back. 

"Stop!"  Gavin  called,  but  she  would  not,  until  his 
hand  touched  her  shoulder. 

"  What  do  you  want?"  she  asked. 

"  Why — "  whispered  Gavin,  giddily,  "  why — why  do 
you  not  hide  in  the  manse  garden? — No  one  will  look 
for  you  there. " 

There  were  genuine  tears  in  the  gypsy's  eyes  now. 

"  You  are  a  good  man,"  she  said;  "  I  like  you." 

"Don't  say  that,"  Gavin  cried  in  horror.  "There  is 
a  summer-seat  in  the  garden." 

Then  he  hurried  from  her,  and  without  looking  to 
see  if  she  took  his  advice,  hastened  to  the  manse.  Once 
inside,  he  snibbed  the  door. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  WOMAN  CONSIDERED  IN  ABSENCE— ADVENTURES  OF  A 
MILITARY  CLOAK. 

ABOUT  six  o'clock  Margaret  sat  up  suddenly  in  bed, 
with  the  conviction  that  she  had  slept  in.  To  her  this 
was  to  ravel  the  day :  a  dire  thing.  The  last  time  it 
happened  Gavin,  softened  by  her  distress,  had  condensed 
morning  worship  into  a  sentence  that  she  might  make 
up  on  the  clock. 

Her  part  on  waking  was  merely  to  ring  her  bell,  and 
so  rouse  Jean,  for  Margaret  had  given  Gavin  a  promise 
to  breakfast  in  bed,  and  remain  there  till  her  fire  was 
lit.  Accustomed  all  her  life,  however,  to  early  rising, 
her  feet  were  usually  on  the  floor  before  she  remem- 
bered her  vow,  and  then  it  was  but  a  step  to  the  window 
to  survey  the  morning.  To  Margaret,  who  seldom 
went  out,  the  weather  was  not  of  great  moment,  while 
it  mattered  much  to  Gavin,  yet  she  always  thought  of 
it  the  first  thing,  and  he  not  at  all  until  he  had  to  de- 
cide whether  his  companion  should  be  an  umbrella  or  a 
staff. 

On  this  morning  Margaret  only  noticed  that  there 
had  been  rain  since  Gavin  came  in.  Forgetting  that 
the  water  obscuring  the  outlook  was  on  the  other  side 
of  the  panes,  she  tried  to  brush  it  away  with  her  fist. 
It  was  of  the  soldiers  she  was  thinking.  They  might 
have  been  awaiting  her  appearance  at  the  window  as 
their  signal  to  depart,  for  hardly  had  she  raised  the 
blind  when  they  began  their  march  out  of  Thrums. 
From  the  manse  she  could  not  see  them,  but  she  heard 
them,  and  she  saw  some  people  at  the  Tenements  run 


80  Gbe  fertile  Minister. 

to  their  houses  at  sound  of  the  drum.  Other  persons, 
less  timid,  followed  the  enemy  with  execrations  halt- 
way  to  Tilliedrum.  Margaret,  the  only  person,  as  it 
happened,  then  awake  in  the  manse,  stood  listening  for 
some  time.  In  the  summer-seat  of  the  garden,  how. 
ever,  there  was  another  listener  protected  from  her 
sight  by  thin  spars. 

Despite  the  lateness  of  the  hour  Margaret  was  too 
soft-hearted  to  rouse  Jean,  who  had  lain  down  in  her 
clothes,  trembling  for  her  father.  She  went  instead 
into  Gavin's  room  to  look  admiringly  at  him  as  he  slept. 
Often  Gavin  woke  to  find  that  his  mother  had  slipped 
in  to  save  him  the  enormous  trouble  of  opening  a  drawer 
for  a  clean  collar,  or  of  pouring  the  water  into  the  basin 
with  his  own  hand.  Sometimes  he  caught  her  in  the 
act  of  putting  thick  socks  in  the  place  of  thin  ones,  and 
it  must  be  admitted  that  her  passion  for  keeping  his 
belongings  in  boxes,  and  the  boxes  in  secret  places,  and 
the  secret  places  at  the  back  of  drawers,  occasionally 
led  to  their  being  lost  when  wanted.  "  They  are  safe, 
at  any  rate,  for  I  put  them  away  some  gait,"  was  then 
Magaret's  comfort,  but  less  soothing  to  Gavin.  Yet  if 
he  upbraided  her  in  his  hurry,  it  was  to  repent  bitterly  his 
temper  the  next  instant,  and  to  feel  its  effects  taore  than 
she,  temper  being  a  weapon  that  we  hold  by  the  blade. 
When  he  awoke  and  saw  her  in  his  room  he  would  pre- 
tend,  unless  he  felt  called  upon  to  rag-e  at  her  for  self- 
neglect,  to  be  still  asleep,  and  then  be  filled  with 
tenderness  for  her.  A  great  writer  has  spoken  sadly  of 
the  shock  it  would  be  to  a  mother  to  know  her  boy  as 
he  really  is,  but  I  think  she  often  knows  him  better 
than  he  is  known  to  cynical  friends.  We  should  be 
slower  to  think  that  the  man  at  his  worst  is  the  real 
man,  and  certain  that  the  better  we  are  ourselves  the 
less  likely  is  he  to  be  at  his  worst  in  our  company. 
Every  time  he  talks  away  his  own  character  before,  vis 
he  is  signifying  contempt  for  ours. 


"TOloman  ConsiDcreO  fn  absence.  81 

On  this  morning  Margaret  only  opened  Gavin's  dcor 
to  stand  and  look,  for  she  was  fearful  of  awakening  him 
after  his  heavy  night.  Even  before  she  saw  that  he 
still  slept  she  noticed  with  surprise  that,  for  the  first 
time  since  he  came  to  Thrums,  he  had  put  on  his  shut- 
ters. She  concluded  that  he  had  done  this  lest  the  light 
should  rouse  him.  He  was  not  sleeping  pleasantly,  for 
now  he  put  his  open  hand  before  his  face,  as  if  to  guard 
himself,  and  again  he  frowned  and  seemed  to  draw  back 
from  something.  He  pointed  his  finger  sternly  to  the 
north,  ordering  the  weavers,  his  mother  thought,  to  re- 
turn to  their  homes,  and  then  he  muttered  to  himself  so 
that  she  heard  the  words,  "  And  if  thy  right  hand  offend 
thee  cut  it  off,  and  cast  it  from  thee,  for  it  is  profitable 
for  thee  that  one  of  thy  members  should  perish,  and  not 
that  thy  whole  body  should  be  cast  into  hell."  Then 
suddenly  he  bent  forward,  his  eyes  open  and  fixed  on 
the  window.  Thus  he  sat,  for  the  space  of  half  a  min- 
ute, like  one  listening  with  painful  intentness.  When 
he  lay  back  Margaret  slipped  away.  She  knew  he  was 
living  the  night  over  again,  but  not  of  the  divit  his 
right  hand  had  cast,  nor  of  the  woman  in  the  garden. 

Gavin  was  roused  presently  by  the  sound  of  voices 
from  Margaret's  room,  where  Jean,  who  had  now  gath- 
ered much  news,  was  giving  it  to  her  mistress.  Jean's 
cheerfulness  would  have  told  him  that  her  father  was 
safe  had  he  not  wakened  to  thoughts  of  the  Egyptian. 
I  suppose  he  was  at  the  window  in  an  instant,  unsnib- 
bing  the  shutters  and  looking  out  as  cautiously  as  a 
burglar  might  have  looked  in.  The  Egyptian  was  gone 
from  the  summer-seat.  He  drew  a  great  breath. 

But  his  troubles  were  not  over.  He  had  just  lifted 
his  ewer  of  water  when  these  words  from  the  kitchen 
capsized  it: — 

"  Ay,  an  Egyptian.  That's  what  the  auld  folk  call  a 
gypsy.  Weel,  Mrs.  Dishart,  she  led  police  and  sojers 
sic  a  dance  through  Thrums  as  would  baffle  description, 
6 


82  m>e  Kittle  /Minister. 

though  I  kent  the  fits  and  fors  o't  as  I  dinna.  Ay,  but 
they  gripped  her  in  the  end,  and  the  queer  thing  is " 

Gavin  listened  to  no  more.  He  suddenly  sat  down. 
The  queer  thing,  of  course,  was  that  she  had  been 
caught  in  his  garden.  Yes,  and  doubtless  queerer 
things  about  this  hussy  and  her  "husband"  were  being 
bawled  from  door  to  door.  To  the  girl's  probable 
sufferings  he  gave  no  heed.  What  kind  of  man  had  he 
been  a  few  hours  ago  to  yield  to  the  machinations  of 
a  woman  who  was  so  obviously  the  devil?  Now  he  saw 
his  folly  in  the  face. 

The  tray  in  Jean's  hands  clattered  against  the  dresser, 
and  Gavin  sprang  from  his  chair.  He  thought  it  was 
his  elders  at  the  front  door. 

In  the  parlour  he  found  Margaret  sorrowing  for  those 
whose  mates  had  been  torn  from  them,  and  Jean  with  a 
face  flushed  by  talk.  On  ordinary  occasions  the  majesty 
of  the  minister  still  cowed  Jean,  so  that  she  could  only 
gaze  at  him  without  shaking  when  in  church,  and  then 
because  she  wore  a  veil.  In  the  manse  he  was  for  tak- 
ing a  glance  at  sideways  and  then  going  away  com- 
forted, as  a  respectable  woman  may  once  or  twice  in  a 
day  look  at  her  brooch  in  the  pasteboard  box  as  a  means 
of  helping  her  with  her  work.  But  with  such  a  to-do 
in  Thrums,  and  she  the  possessor  of  exclusive  informa- 
tion, Jean's  reverence  for  Gavin  only  took  her  to-day 
as  far  as  the  door,  where  she  lingered  half  in  the  par- 
lour and  half  in  the  lobby,  her  eyes  turned  politely 
from  the  minister,  but  her  ears  his  entirely. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  Jean  telling  you  about  the  capture 
of  the — of  an  Egyptian  woman,"  Gavin  said  to  his 
mother,  nervously. 

"  Did  you  cry  to  me?"  Jean  asked,  turning  round 
longingly.  "  But  maybe  the  mistress  will  tell  you  about 
the  Egyptian  hersel." 

"  Has  she  been  taken  to  Tilliedrum?"  Gavin  asked  in 
a  hollow  voice. 


Gbe  TKHoman  ConsiOereS  fn  absence.  83 

u  Sup  tip  yonr  porridge,  Gavin,"  Margaret  said.  "  I'll 
have  no  speaking  about  this  terrible  night  till  you've 
eaten  something. " 

"I  have  no  appetite,"  the  minister  replied,  pushing 
his  plate  from  him.  "Jean,  answer  me." 

"  'Deed,  then,"  said  Jean  willingly,  "  they  hinna  ta'en 
her  to  Tilliedrum." 

"  For  what  reason?"  asked  Gavin,  his  dread  increasing. 

"For  the  reason  that  they  couldna  catch  her,"  Jean 
answered.  "She  spirited  hersel  awa',  the  magerful 
crittur." 

"  What!     But  I  heard  you  say " 

"Ay,  they  had  her  aince,  but  they  couldna  keep  her. 
It's  like  a  witch  story.  They  had  her  safe  in  the  town- 
house,  and  baith  shirra  and  captain  guarding  her,  and 
syne  in  a  clink  she  wasna  there.  A'  nicht  they  looked 
for  her,  but  she  hadna  left  so  muckle  as  a  foot-print 
ahint  her,  and  in  the  tail  of  the  day  they  had  to  up  wi* 
their  tap  in  their  lap  and  march  awa  without  her." 

Gavin's  appetite  returned. 

"  Has  she  been  seen  since  the  soldiers  went  away?" 
he  asked,  laying  down  his  spoon  with  a  new  fear. 
"  Where  is  she  now?" 

"No  human  eye  has  seen  her,"  Jean  answered  im- 
pressively. "  Whaur  is  she  now?  Whaur  does  the  flies 
vanish  to  in  winter?  We  ken  they're  some  gait,  but 
whaur?" 

"  But  what  are  the  people  saying  about  her?" 

"  Daft  things,"  said  Jean.  "  Old  Charles  Yuill  gangs 
vthe  length  o'  hinting  that  she's  dead  and  buried." 

"  She  could  not  have  buried  herself,  Jean,"  Margaret 
said,  mildly. 

"  I  dinna  ken.  Charles  says  she's  even  capable  o' 
that." 

Then  Jean  retired  reluctantly  (but  leaving  the  door 
ajar)  and  Gavin  fell  to  on  his  porridge.  He  was  now 
so  cheerful  that  Margaret  wondered. 


Cbe  fcfttle  /Ifcinfster. 

"If  half  the  stories  about  this  gypsy  be  true,"  she 
said,  "she  must  be  more  than  a  mere  woman." 

"Less,  you  mean,  mother,"  Gavin  said,  with  convic- 
tion. "  She  is  a  woman,  and  a  sinful  one." 

"  Did  you  see  her,  Gavin?" 

"  I  saw  her.     Mother,  she  flouted  me!" 

"The  daring  tawpie!"  exclaimed  Margaret. 

"She  is  all  that,"  said  the  minister. 

"Was  she  dressed  just  like  an  ordinary  gypsy  body? 
But  you  don't  notice  clothes  much,  Gavin." 

"  I  noticed  hers, "  Gavin  said,  slowly,  "  she  was  in  a 
green  and  red,  I  think,  and  barefooted. " 

"Ay,"  shouted  Jean  from  the  kitchen,  startling  both 
of  them ;  "  but  she  had  a  lang  grey-like  cloak  too.  She 
was  seen  jouking  up  closes  in't." 

Gavin  rose,  considerably  annoyed,  and  shut  the  par- 
lour door. 

"Was  she  as  bonny  as  folks  say?"  asked  Mar- 
garet. "Jean  says  they  speak  of  her  beauty  as  un- 
earthly. " 

"Beauty  of  her  kind,"  Gavin  explained  learnedly, 
"is  neither  earthly  nor  heavenly."  He  was  seeing 
things  as  they  are  very  clearly  now.  "What,"  he  said, 
"is  mere  physical  beauty?  Pooh!" 

"And  yet,"  said  Margaret,  "the  soul  surely  docs 
speak  through  the  face  to  some  extent. " 

"  Do  you  really  think  so,  mother?"  Gavin  asked,  a 
little  uneasily. 

"I  have  always  noticed  it,"  Margaret  said,  and  then 
her  son  sighed. 

"  But  I  would  let  no  face  influence  me  a  jot,"  he  said, 
recovering. 

"Ah,  Gavin,  I'm  thinking  I'm  the  reason  you  pay  so 
little  regard  to  women's  faces.  It's  no  natural." 

"You've  spoilt  me,  you  see,  mother,  for  ever  caring 
for  another  woman.  I  would  compare  her  to  you,  and 
then  where  would  she  be?" 


3be  "CCloman  ConsiDerefc  in  absence.  85 

"Sometime,"  Margaret  said,  "you'll  think  differ- 
ently. " 

"  Never,"  answered  Gavin,  with  a  violence  that  ended 
the  conversation. 

Soon  afterwards  he  set  off  for  the  town,  and  in  pass- 
ing down  the  garden  walk  cast  a  guilty  glance  at  the 
summer-seat.  Something  black  was  lying  in  one  corner 
of  it.  He  stopped  irresolutely,  for  his  mother  was 
nodding  to  him  from  her  window.  Then  he  disappeared 
into  the  little  arbour.  What  had  caught  his  eye  was  a 
Bible.  On  the  previous  day,  as  he  now  remembered, 
he  had  been  called  away  while  studying  in  the  garden, 
and  had  left  his  Bible  on  the  summer-seat,  a  pencil  be- 
tween its  pages.  Not  often  probably  had  the  Egyptian 
passed  a  night  in  such  company. 

But  what  was  this?  Gavin  had  not  to  ask  himself 
the  question.  The  gypsy's  cloak  was  lying  neatly 
folded  at  the  other  end  of  the  seat.  Why  had  the 
woman  not  taken  it  with  her?  Hardly  had  he  put  this 
question  when  another  stood  in  front  of  it.  What  was 
to  be  done  with  the  cloak?  He  dared  not  leave  it  there 
for  Jean  to  discover.  He  could  not  take  it  into  the 
manse  in  daylight.  Beneath  the  seat  was  a  tool-chest 
without  a  lid,  and  into  this  he  crammed  the  cloak. 
Then,  having  turned  the  box  face  downwards,  he  went 
about  his  duties.  But  many  a  time  during  the  day  he 
shivered  to  the  marrow,  reflecting  suddenly  that  at  this 
very  moment  Jean  might  be  carrying  the  accursed  thing 
(at  arms'  length,  like  a  dog  in  disgrace)  to  his  mother. 
.  Now  let  those  who  think  that  Gavin  has  not  yet  paid 
toll  for  taking  the  road  with  the  Egyptian,  follow  the 
adventures  of  the  cloak.  Shortly  after  gloaming  fell 
that  night  Jean  encountered  her  master  in  the  lobby  of 
the  manse.  He  was  carrying  something,  and  when  he 
saw  her  he  slipped  it  behind  his  back.  Had  he  passed 
her  openly  she  would  have  suspected  nothing,  but  this 
made  her  look  at  him. 


86  Cbe  Xtttlc  Minister. 

"Why  do  you  stare  so,  Jean?"  Gavin  asked,  con« 
science-stricken,  and  he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  wall 
until  she  had  retired  in  bewilderment. 

"I  have  noticed  her  watching  me  sharply  all  day," 
he  said  to  himself,  though  it  was  only  he  who  had  been 
watching  her. 

Gavin  carried  the  cloak  to  his  bed-room,  thinking  to 
lock  it  away  in  his  chest,  but  it  looked  so  wicked 
lying  there  that  he  seemed  to  see  it  after  the  lid  was 
shut. 

The  garret  was  the  best  place  for  it.  He  took  it  out 
of  the  chest  and  was  opening  his  door  gently,  when 
there  was  Jean  again.  She  had  been  employed  very 
innocently  in  his  mother's  room,  but  he  said  tartly — 

"Jean,  I  really  cannot  have  this,"  which  sent  Jean  to 
the  kitchen  with  her  apron  at  her  eyes. 

Gavin  stowed  the  cloak  beneath  the  garret  bed,  and 
an  hour  afterwards  was  engaged  on  his  sermon,  when 
he  distinctly  heard  some  one  in  the  garret.  He  ran  up 
the  ladder  with  a  terrible  brow  for  Jean,  but  it  was  not 
Jean ;  it  was  Margaret. 

"Mother,"  he  said  in  alarm,  "what  are  you  doing 
here?" 

"  I  am  only  tidying  up  the  garret,  Gavin. " 

"Yes,  but — it  is  too  cold  for  you.  Did  Jean — did 
Jean  ask  you  to  come  up  here?" 

"Jean?     She  knows  her  place  better." 

Gavin  took  Margaret  down  to  the  parlour,  but  his 
confidence  in  the  garret  had  gone.  He  stole  up  the 
ladder  again,  dragged  the  cloak  from  its  lurking  place, 
and  took  it  into  the  garden.  He  very  nearly  met  Jean 
in  the  lobby  again,  but  hearing  him  corning  she  fled 
precipitately,  which  he  thought  very  suspicious. 

In  the  garden  he  dug  a  hole,  and  there  buried  the 
cloak,  but  even  now  he  was  not  done  with  it.  He  was 
wakened  early  by  a  noise  of  scraping  in  the  garden,  and 
his  first  thought  was  "Jean!"  But  peering  from  the 


Woman  Constoerefc  tn  Bbsencc.  87 

window,   he  saw  that   the  resurrectionist  was  a  dog, 
which  already  had  its  teeth  in  the  cloak. 

That  forenoon  Gavin  left  the  manse  unostentatiously 
carrying  a  brown-paper  parcel.  He  proceeded  to  the 
hill,  and  having  dropped  the  parcel  there,  retired  hur- 
riedly. On  his  way  home,  nevertheless,  he  was  over- 
taken by  D.  Fittis,  who  had  been  cutting  down  whins. 
Fittis  had  seen  the  parcel  fall,  and  running  after  Gavin, 
returned  it  to  him.  Gavin  thanked  D.  Fittis,  and  then 
sat  down  gloomily  on  the  cemetery  dyke.  Half  an 
hour  afterwards  he  flung  the  parcel  into  a  Tillyloss 
garden. 

In  the  evening  Margaret  had  news  for  him,  got  from 
Jean. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Gavin,  that  the  Egyptian  every 
one  is  still  speaking  of,  wore  a  long  cloak?  Well, 
would  you  believe  it,  the  cloak  was  Captain  Halliwell's, 
and  she  took  it  from  the  town-house  when  she  escaped. 
She  is  supposed  to  have  worn  it  inside  out.  He  did 
not  discover  that  it  was  gone  until  he  was  leaving 
Thrums." 

"  Mother,  is  this  possible?"  Gavin  said. 

"The  policeman,  Wearyworld,  has  told  it.  He  was 
ordered,  it  seems,  to  look  for  the  cloak  quietly,  and  to 
take  any  one  into  custody  in  whose  possession  it  was 
found." 

"  Has  it  been  found?" 

"No." 

The  minister  walked  out  of  the  parlour,  for  he  could 
not  trust  his  face.  What  was  to  be  done  now?  The 
cloak  was  lying  in  mason  Baxter's  garden,  and  Baxter 
was  therefore,  in  all  probability,  within  four-and-twenty 
hours  of  the  Tilliedrum  gaol. 

"Does  Mr.  Dishart  ever  wear  a  cap  at  nichts?" 
Femie  Wilkie  asked  Sam'l  Fairweather  three  hours 
later. 

"  Na,  na,   he  has  ower  muckle  respect  for  his  lum 


88  Sbe  Xfftle  minister. 

hat,"  answered  Sam'l;  "and  richtly,  for  it's  the  crown, 
icg  stone  o'  the  edifice." 

"  Then  it  couldna  hae  been  him  I  met  at  the  back  o* 
Tillyloss  the  now,"  said  Femie,  "though  like  him  it 
was.  He  joukit  back  when  he  saw  me. " 

While  Femie  was  telling  her  story  in  the  Tenements, 
mason  Baxter,  standing  at  the  window  which  looked 
into  his  garden,  was  shouting,  "Wha's  that  in  my 
yard?"  There  was  no  answer,  and  Baxter  closed  his 
window,  under  the  impression  that  he  had  been  speak- 
ing to  a  cat.  The  man  in  the  cap  then  emerged  from 
the  corner  where  he  had  been  crouching,  and  stealthily 
felt  for  something  among  the  cabbages  and  pea  sticks. 
It  was  no  longer  there,  however,  and  by-and-by  he  re- 
tired empty-handed. 

"The  Egyptian's  cloak  has  been  found,"  Margaret 
was  able  to  tell  Gavin  next  day.  "  Mason  Baxter  found 
it  yesterday  afternoon. " 

"In  his  garden?"  Gavin  asked  hurriedly. 

"No;  in  the  quarry,  he  says,  but  according  to  Jean 
he  is  known  not  to  have  been  at  the  quarry  to-day. 
Some  seem  to  think  that  the  gypsy  gave  him  the  cloak 
for  helping  her  to  escape,  and  that  he  has  delivered  it 
up  lest  he  should  get  into  difficulties." 

"  Whom  has  he  given  it  to,  mother?"  Gavin  asked. 

"  To  the  policeman. " 

"And  has  Wearyworld  sent  it  back  to  Halliwell?" 

"  Yes.  He  told  Jean  he  sent  it  off  at  once,  with  the 
information  that  the  masons  had  found  it  in  the  quarry." 

The  next  day  was  Sabbath,  when  a  new  trial,  now  to 
be  told,  awaited  Gavin  in  the  pulpit ;  but  it  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  cloak,  of  which  I  may  here  record  the 
end.  Wearyworld  had  not  forwarded  it  to  its  owner; 
Meggy,  his  wife,  took  care  of  that.  It  made  its  reappear- 
ance in  Thrums,  several  months  after  the  riot,  as  two 
pairs  of  Sabbath  breeks  for  her  sons,  James  and  Andrew. 


CHAPTER   X. 

FIRST  SERMON  AGAINST  WOMEN. 

ON  the  afternoon  of  the  following  Sabbath,  as  I  have 
said,  something  strange  happened  in  the  Auld  Licht 
pulpit.  The  congregation,  despite  their  troubles, 
turned  it  over  and  peered  at  it  for  days,  but  had  they 
seen  into  the  inside  of  it  they  would  have  weaved  few 
webs  until  the  session  had  sat  on  the  minister.  The 
affair  baffled  me  at  the  time,  and  for  the  Egyptian's 
sake  I  would  avoid  mentioning  it  now,  were  it  not  one 
of  Gavin's  milestones.  It  includes  the  first  of  his 
memorable  sermons  against  Woman. 

I  was  not  in  the  Auld  Licht  church  that  day,  but  I 
heard  of  the  sermon  before  night,  and  this,  I  think,  is 
as  good  an  opportunity  as  another  for  showing  how  the 
gossip  about  -Gavin  reached  me  up  here  in  the  Glen 
school-house.  Since  Margaret  and  her  son  came  to  the 
manse  I  had  kept  the  vow  made  to  myself  and  avoided 
Thrums.  Only  once  had  I  ventured  to  the  kirk,  and 
then,  instead  of  taking  my  old  seat,  the  fourth  from  the 
pulpit,  I  sat  down  near  the  plate,  where  I  could  look  at 
Margaret  without  her  seeing  me.  To  spare  her  that 
agony  I  even  stole  away  as  the  last  word  of  the  bene- 
diction was  pronounced,  and  my  haste  scandalised 
many,  for  with  Auld  Lichts  it  is  not  customary  to  retire 
quickly  from  the  church  after  the  manner  of  the  godless 
U.  P. 's  (and  the  Free  Kirk  is  little  better),  who  have 
their  hats  in  their  hand  when  they  rise  for  the  benedic- 
tion, so  that  they  may  at  once  pour  out  like  a  burst 
dam.  We  resume  our  seats,  look  straight  before  us. 
clear  our  throats  and  stretch  out  our  hands  for  ouj 


90  Cbe  Xittlc  /Minister. 

womenfolk  to  put  our  hats  into  them.  In  time  we  do 
get  out,  but  I  am  never  sure  how. 

One  may  gossip  in  a  glen  on  Sabbaths,  though  not  in 
a  town,  without  losing  his  character,  and  I  used  to  await 
the  return  of  my  neighbour,  the  farmer  of  Waster 
Lunny,  and  of  Silva  Birse,  the  Glen  Quharity  post,  at 
the  end  of  the  school -house  path.  Waster  Lunny  was  a 
man  whose  care  in  his  leisure  hours  was  to  keep  from 
his  wife  his  great  pride  in  her.  His  horse,  Catlaw,  on 
the  other  hand,  he  told  outright  what  he  thought  of  it, 
praising  it  to  its  face  and  blackguarding  it  as  it  deserved, 
and  I  have  seen  him  when  completely  baffled  by  the 
brute,  sit  down  before  it  on  a  stone  and  thus  harangue: 
44  You  think  you're  clever,  Catlaw,  my  lass,  but  you're 
mista'en.  You're  a  thrawn  limmer,  that's  what  you 
are.  You  think  you  have  blood  in  you.  You  hae 
blood!  Gae  away,  and  dinna  blether.  I  tell  you  what, 
Catlaw,  I  met  a  man  yestreen  that  kent  your  mither, 
and  he  says  she  was  a  feikie  fushionless  besom.  What 
do  you  say  to  that?" 

As  for  the  post,  I  will  say  no  more  of  him  than  that 
his  bitter  topic  was  the  unreasonableness  of  humanity, 
which  treated  him  graciously  when  he  had  a  letter  for 
it,  but  scowled  at  him  when  he  had  nor*  *  .r*e  imply- 
ing that  I  hae  a  letter,  but  keep  it  back. 

On  the  Sabbath  evening  after  the  riot,  I  stood  at  the 
usual  place  awaiting  ~~y  fr!?nds.  ?nd.  saw  oefore  they 
reached  me  that  they  had  something  untoward  to  tell. 
The  farmer,  his  wife  and  three  children,  holding  each 
other's  hands,  stretched  across  the  road.  Birse  was  a 
little  behind,  but  a  conversation  was  being  kept  up  by 
shouting.  All  were  walking  the  Sabbath  pace,  and  the 
family  having  started  half  a  minute  in  advance,  the 
post  had  not  yet  made  up  on  them. 

"It's  sitting  to  snaw,"  Waster  Lunny  said,  drawing 
near,  and  just  as  I  was  to  reply,  "  It  is  so,"  Silva  slipped 
in  the  words  before  me. 


fffrst  Sermon  against  TDfflomen.  3i 

"You  wasna  at  the  kirk,"  was  Elspeth's  salutat;jn. 
I  had  been  at  the  Glen  church,  but  did  not  contradict 
her,  for  it  is  Established,  and  so  neither  here  nor  there. 
I  was  anxious,  too,  to  know  what  their  long  faces 
meant,  and  so  asked  at  once — 

"  Was  Mr.  Dishart  on  the  riot?" 

"Forenoon,  ay;  afternoon,  no,"  replied  Waster 
Lunny,  walking  round  his  wife  to  get  nearer  me. 
"  Dominie,  a  queery  thing  happened  in  the  kirk  this 
day,  sic  as " 

"  Waster  Lunny,"  interrupted  Elspeth  sharply;  " have 
you  on  your  Sabbath  shoon  or  have  you  no  on  your 
Sabbath  shoon?" 

"  Guid  care  you  took  I  should  hae  the  dagont  oncanny 
things  on,"  retorted  the  farmer. 

"  Keep  out  o'  the  gutter,  then,"  said  Elspeth,  "on  the 
Lord's  day." 

"Him,"  said  her  man,  "that  is  forced  by  a  foolish 
woman  to  wear  genteel  'lastic-sided  boots  canna  forget 
them  till  he  takes  them  aff.  Whaur's  the  extra  rever- 
ence in  wearing  shoon  twa  sizes  ower  sma?" 

"It  mayna  be  mair  reverent,"  suggested  Birse,  to 
whom  Elspeth's  kitchen  was  a  pleasant  place,  "but  it's 
grand,  and  you  canna  expect  to  be  baith  grand  and 
comfortable. " 

I  reminded  them  that  they  were  speaking  of  Mr. 
Dishart. 

"We  was  saying,"  began  the  post  briskly,  "that " 

"It  was  me  that  was  saying  it,"  said  Waster  Lunny. 
"  So,  dominie " 

"  Haud  your  gabs,  baith  o'  you,"  interrupted  Elspeth. 
"  You've  been  roaring  the  story  to  ane  another  till 
you're  hoarse." 

"In  the  forenoon,"  Waster  Lunny  went  on  deter- 
minedly, "  Mr.  Dishart  preached  on  the  riot,  and  fine  he 
was.  Oh,  dominie,  you  should  hae  heard  him  ladling 
it  on  to  Lang  Tammas,  no  by  name  but  in  sic  a  way 


»2  Ube  Xittlc  Minister. 

that  there  was  no  mistaking  wha  he  was  preaching  at 
Sal !  oh  losh !  Tammas  got  it  strong. " 

"  But  he's  dull  in  the  uptake,"  broke  in  the  post,  "  by 
what  I  expected.  I  spoke  to  him  after  the  sermon,  and 
I  says,  just  to  see  if  he  was  properly  humbled,  'Ay, 
Tammas,'  I  says,  'them  that  discourse  was  preached 
against,  winna  think  themselves  seven  feet  men  for  a 
while  again.'  'Ay,  Birse,'  he  answers,  'and  glad  I  am 
to  hear  you  admit  it,  for  he  had  you  in  his  eye. '  I  was 
fair  scunnered  at  Tammas  the  day. " 

"  Mr.  Dishart  was  preaching  at  the  whole  clanjamfray 
o*  you,"  said  Elspeth. 

"Maybe  he  was,"  said  her  husband,  leering;  "but 
you  needna  cast  it  at  us,  for,  my  certie,  if  the  men  got 
it  frae  him  in  the  forenoon,  the  women  got  it  in  the 
afternoon. " 

"He  redd  them  up  most  michty,"  said  the  post. 
"Thae  was  his  very  words  or  something  like  them. 
'Adam,'  says  he,  'was  an  erring  man,  but  aside  Eve  he 
was  respectable. '  " 

"Ay,  but  it  wasna  a'  women  he  meant,"  Elspeth  ex- 
plained, "  for  when  he  said  that,  he  pointed  his  ringer 
direct  at  T'nowhead's  lassie,  and  I  hope  it'll  do  her 
good. " 

"  But  I  wonder,"  I  said,"  that  Mr.  Dishart  chose  such 
a  subject  to-day.  I  thought  he  would  be  on  the  riot  at 
.both  services." 

"You'll  wonder  mair,"  said  Elspeth,  "when  you  hear 
what  happened  afore  he  began  the  afternoon  sermon. 
But  I  canna  get  in  a  word  wi'  that  man  o'  mine." 

"We've  been  speaking  about  it,"  said  Birse,  "ever 
since  we  left  the  kirk  door.  Tod,  we've  been  sawing 
it  like  seed  a'  alang  the  glen." 

"And  we  meant  to  tell  you  about  it  at  once,"  said 
Waster  Lunny ;  "  but  there's  aye  so  muckle  to  say  about 
a  minister.  Dagont,  to  hae  ane  keeps  a  body  out  o' 
langour.  Ay,  but  this  breaks  the  drum.  Dominie. 


first  Sermon  against  tUor.icn.  fe 

either  Mr.  Dishart  wasna  weel,  or  he  was  in  the  devil's 
grip." 

This  startled  me,  for  the  farmer  was  looking  serious. 

"He  was  weel  eneuch,"  said  Birse,  "for  a  heap  o' 
fowk  speired  at  Jean  if  he  had  ta'en  his  porridge  as 
usual,  and  she  admitted  he  had.  But  the  lassie  was 
skeered  hersel',  and  said  it  was  a  mercy  Mrs.  Dishart 
wasna  in  the  kirk. " 

"  Why  was  she  not  there?"  I  asked  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  he  winna  let  her  out  in  sic  weather. " 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  happened,"  I  said 
to  Elspeth. 

"  So  I  will, "  she  answered,  "  if  Waster  Lunny  would 
haud  his  wheesht  for  a  minute.  You  see  the  afternoon 
diet  began  in  the  ordinary  way,  and  a'  was  richt  until 
we  came  to  the  sermon.  'You  will  find  my  text,'  he 
says,  in  his  piercing  voice,  'in  the  eighth  chapter  of 
Ezra. ' " 

"And  at  thae  words,"  said  Waster  Lunny,  "my  heart 
gae  a  loup,  for  Ezra  is  an  unca  ill  book  to  find ;  ay,  and 
so  is  Ruth." 

"I  kent  the  books  o'  the  Bible  by  heart,"  said  Els- 
peth, scornfully,  "when  I  was  a  sax  year  auld." 

"  So  did  I,"  said  Waster  Lunny,  "and  I  ken  them  yet, 
except  when  I'm  hurried.  When  Mr.  Dishart  gave  out 
Ezra  he  a  sort  o'  keeked  round  the  kirk  to  find  out  if  he 
had  puzzled  onybody,  and  so  there  was  a  kind  o'  a  com- 
petition among  the  congregation  wha  would  lay  hand 
on  it  first.  That  was  what  doited  me.  Ay,  there  was 
Ruth  when  she  wasna  wanted,  but  Ezra,  dagont,  it 
looked  as  if  Ezra  had  jumped  clean  out  o'  the  Bible." 

"You  wasna  the  only  distressed  crittur,"  said  his 
wife.  "  I  was  ashamed  to  see  Eppie  McLaren  looking 
up  the  order  o'  the  books  at  the  beginning  o'  the  Bible." 

"Tibbie  Birse  was  even  mair  brazen,"  said  the  post, 
"  for  the  sly  cuttie  opened  at  Kings  and  pretended  it 
was  Ezra." 


94  m>e  Xittle 

"None  o'  thae  things  would  I  do,"  said  Waster 
Lunny,  "and  sal,  I  dauredna,  for  Davit  Lunan  was 
glowering  over  my  shuther.  Ay,  you  may  scrowl  at 
me,  Elspeth  Proctor,  but  as  far  back  as  I  can  mind, 
Ezra  has  done  me.  Mony  a  time  afore  I  start  for  the 
kirk  I  take  my  Bible  to  a  quiet  place  and  look  Ezra  up. 
In  the  very  pew  I  says  canny  to  mysel',  'Ezra,  Nehe- 
miah,  Esther,  Job,'  the  which  should  be  a  help,  but 
the  moment  the  minister  gi'es  out  that  awfu"  book,  away 
goes  Ezra  like  the  Egyptian." 

"And  you  after  her,"  said  Elspeth,  "like  the  weavers 
that  wouldna  fecht.  You  make  a  windmill  of  your 
Bible." 

"Oh,  I  winna  admit  I'm  beat.  Never  mind,  there's 
queer  things  in  the  world  forby  Ezra.  How  is  cripples 
aye  so  puffed  up  mair  than  other  folk?  How  does  flour- 
bread  aye  fall  on  the  buttered  side?" 

"I  will  mind,"  Elspeth  said,  "for  I  was  terrified  the 
minister  would  admonish  you  frae  the  pulpit." 

"He  couldna  hae  done  that,  for  was  he  no  baffled  to 
find  Ezra  himsel'?" 

"Him  no  find  Ezra!"  cried  Elspeth.  "I  hae  telled 
you  a  dozen  times  he  found  it  as  easy  as  you  could  yoke 
a  horse." 

"The  thing  can  be  explained  in  no  other  way,"  said 
her  husband,  doggedly,  "  if  he  was  weel  and  in  sound 
mind." 

"  Maybe  the  dominie  can  clear  it  up, "  suggested  the 
post,  "him  being  a  scholar." 

"Then  tell  me  what  happened,"  I  asked. 

"Godsake,  hae  we  no  telled  you?"  Birse  said.  "I 
thocht  we  had. " 

"It  was  a  terrible  scene,"  said  Elspeth,  giving  her 
husband  a  shove.  "As  I  said,  Mr.  Dishart  gave  out 
Ezra  eighth.  Weel,  I  turned  it  up  in  a  jiffy,  and  syne 
looked  cautiously  to  see  how  Eppie  McLaren  was  get- 
ting on.  Just  at  that  minute  I  heard  a  groan  frae  the 


fffrst  Sermon  zigainct  Women.  93 

pulpit.  It  didna  stop  short  o'  a  groan.  Ay,  you  may 
be  sure  I  looked  quick  at  the  minister,  and  there  I  saw 
a  sicht  that  would  hae  made  the  grandest  gape.  His 
face  was  as  white  as  a  baker's,  and  he  had  a  sort  of 
fallen  against  the  back  o'  the  pulpit,  staring  demented- 
like  at  his  open  Bible." 

"And  I  saw  him,"  said  Birse,  "put  up  his  hand 
atween  him  and  the  Book,  as  if  he  thocht  it  was  to 
jump  at  him." 

"Twice,"  said  Elspeth,  "he  tried  to  speak,  and  twice 
he  let  the  words  fall." 

"That,"  says  Waster  Lunny,  "the  whole  congrega- 
tion admits,  but  I  didna  see  it  mysel',  for  a'  this  time 
you  may  picture  me  hunting  savage-like  for  Ezra.  I 
thocht  the  minister  was  waiting  till  I  found  it." 

"Hendry  Munn,"  said  Birse,  "stood  upon  one  leg, 
wondering  whether  he  should  run  to  the  session-house 
for  a  glass  of  water." 

"But  by  that  time,"  said  Elspeth,  "the  fit  had  left 
Mr.  Dishart,  or  rather  it  had  ta'en  a  new  turn.  He 
grew  red,  and  it's  gospel  that  he  stamped  his  foot." 

"  He  had  the  face  of  one  using  bad  words,"  said  the 
post.  "He  didna  swear,  of  course,  but  that  was  the 
face  he  had  on. " 

" I  missed  it,"  said  Waster  Lunny,  "for  I  was  in  full 
cry  after  Ezra,  with  the  sweat  running  down  my  face. " 

"  But  the  most  astounding  thing  has  yet  to  be  telled," 
went  on  Elspeth.  "The  minister  shook  himsel*  like 
one  wakening  frae  a  nasty  dream,  and  he  cries  in  a 
voice  of  thunder,  just  as  if  he  was  shaking  his  fist  at 
somebody " 

"He  cries,"  Birse  interposed,  cleverly,  "he  cries, 
'You  will  find  the  text  in  Genesis,  chapter  three,  verse 
six. ' " 

"Yes,"  said  Elspeth,  "first  he  gave  out  one  text,  and 
then  he  gave  out  another,  being  the  most  amazing  thing 
to  my  mind  that  ever  happened  in  the  town  of  Thrums. 


96  Cbe  Xlttle  /Ibinistcr. 

What  will  our  children's  children  think  o't?     I  wouldna 
hae  missed  it  for  a  pound  note." 

"Nor  me,"  said  Waster  Lunny,  "though  I  only  got 
the  tail  o't.  Dominie,  no  sooner  had  he  said  Genesis 
third  and  sixth,  than  I  laid  my  finger  on  Ezra.  Was  it 
no  provoking?  Onybody  can  turn  up  Genesis,  but  it 
needs  an  able-bodied  man  to  find  Ezra." 

"He  preached  on  the  Fall,"  Elspeth  said,  "for  an 
hour  and  twenty-five  minutes,  but  powerful  though  he 
was  I  would  rather  he  had  telled  us  what  made  him  gie 
the  go-by  to  Ezra." 

"All  I  can  say,"  said  Waster  Lunny,  "is  that  I  never 
heard  him  mair  awe-inspiring.  Whaur  has  he  got  sic  a 
knowledge  of  women?  He  riddled  them,  he  fair  rid- 
dled them,  till  I  was  ashamed  o'  being  married." 

"  It's  easy  kent  whaur  he  got  his  knowledge  of 
women,"  Birse  explained,  "it's  a*  in  the  original  He- 
brew. You  can  howk  ony  mortal  thing  out  o'  the 
original  Hebrew,  the  which  all  ministers  hae  at  their 
finger  ends.  What  else  makes  them  ken  to  jump  a 
verse  now  and  then  when  giving  out  a  psalm?" 

"It  wasna  women  like  me  he  denounced,"  Elspeth 
insisted,  "but  young  lassies  that  leads  men  astray  wi' 
their  abominable  wheedling  ways." 

"Tod,"  said  her  husband,  "if  they  try  their  hands  on 
Mr.  Dishart  they'll  meet  their  match." 

"They  will,"  chuckled  the  post.  "The  Hebrew's  a 
grand  thing,  though  teuch,  I'm  telled,  michty  teuch." 

"His  sublimest  burst,"  Waster  Lunny  came  back  to 
tell  me,  "  was  about  the  beauty  o'  the  soul  being  every- 
thing and  the  beauty  o'  the  face  no  worth  a  snuff. 
What  a  scorn  he  has  for  bonny  faces  and  toom  souls ! 
I  dinna  deny  but  what  a  bonny  face  fell  takes  me,  but 
Mr.  Dishart  wouldna  gie  a  blade  o'  grass  for't.  Ay, 
and  I  used  to  think  that  in  their  foolishness  about 
women  there  was  dagont  little  differ  atween  the  un- 
learned and  the  highly  edicated." 


fftrst  Sermon  Bgafnet  Tldomen.  97 

The  gossip  about  Gavin  brought  hitherto  to  the  school- 
house  had  been  as  bread  to  me,  but  this  I  did  not  like. 
For  a  minister  to  behave- thus  was  as  unsettling  to  us  as 
a  change  of  Government  to  Londoners,  and  I  decided  to 
give  my  scholars  a  holiday  on  the  morrow  and  tramp 
into  the  town  for  fuller  news.  But  all  through  the 
night  it  snowed,  and  next  day,  and  then  intermittently 
for  many  days,  and  every  fall  took  the  school  miles 
farther  away  from  Thrums.  Birse  and  the  crows  had 
now  the  glen  road  to  themselves,  and  even  Birse  had 
twice  or  thrice  to  bed  with  me.  At  these  times  had  he 
not  been  so  interested  in  describing  his  progress  through 
the  snow,  maintaining  that  the  crying  want  of  our  glen 
road  was  palings  for  postmen  to  kick  their  feet  against, 
he  must  have  wondered  why  I  always  turned  the  talk  to 
the  Auld  Licht  minister. 

"Ony  explanation  o'  his  sudden  change  o'  texts?" 
Birse  said,  repeating  my  question.  "  Tod,  and  there  is 
and  to  spare,  for  I  hear  tell  there's  saxteen  explanations 
in  the  Tenements  alone.  As  Tammas  Haggart  says, 
that's  a  blessing,  for  if  there  had  just  been  twa  explana- 
tions the  kirk  micht  hae  split  on  them." 

"Ay,"  he  said  at  another  time,  "twa  or  three  even 
dared  to  question  the  minister,  but  I'm  thinking  they 
made  nothing  o't.  The  majority  agrees  that  he  was 
just  inspired  to  change  his  text.  But  Lang  Tammas  is* 
dour.  Tammas  telled  the  session  a  queer  thing.  He 
says  that  after  the  diet  o'  worship  on  that  eventful  after- 
noon Mr.  Dishart  carried  the  Bible  out  o'  the  pulpit 
instead  o'  leaving  that  duty  as  usual  to  the  kirk-officer. 
Weel,  Tammas,  being  precentor,  has  a  richt,  as  you 
ken,  to  leave  the  kirk  by  the  session-house  door,  just 
like  the  minister  himsel*.  He  did  so  that  afternoon, 
and  what,  think  you,  did  he  see?  He  saw  Mr.  Dishart 
tearing  a  page  out  o'  the  Bible,  and  flinging  it  savagely 
into  the  session-house  fire.  You  dinna  credit  it?  Weel, 
it's  staggering,  but  there's  Hendry  Munn's  evidence 
7 


98  Sbe  Xittle  Minister. 

too.  Hendry  took  his  first  chance  o'  looking  up  Ezra 
in  the  minister's  Bible,  and,  behold,  the  page  wi'  the 
eighth  chapter  was  gone.  Them  that  thinks  Tammas 
wasna  blind  wi'  excitement  hauds  it  had  been  Ezra 
eighth  that  gaed  into  the  fire.  Onyway,  there's  no 
doubt  about  the  page's  being  missing,  for  whatever  ex- 
citement Tammas  was  in,  Hendry  was  as  cool  as  ever/ 

A  week  later  Birse  told  me  that  the  congregation  had 
decided  to  regard  the  incident  as  adding  lustre  to  their 
kirk.  This  was  largely,  I  fear,  because  it  could  then  be 
used  to  belittle  the  Established  minister.  That  fervent 
Auld  Licht,  Snecky  Hobart,  feeling  that  Gavin's  action 
was  unsound,  had  gone  on  the  following  Sabbath  to  the 
parish  kirk  and  sat  under  Mr.  Duthie.  But  Mr.  Duthie 
was  a  close  reader,  so  that  Snecky  flung  himself  about 
in  his  pew  in  misery.  The  minister  concluded  his  ser- 
mon with  these  words:  "  But  on  this  subject  I  will  say 
no  more  at  present."  "Because  you  canna,"  Snecky 
roared,  and  strutted  out  of  the  church.  Comparing  the 
two  scenes,  it  is  obvious  that  the  Auld  Lichts  had  won 
a  victory.  After  preaching  impromptu  for  an  hour  and 
twenty-five  minutes,  it  could  never  be  said  of  Gavin 
that  he  needed  to  read.  He  became  more  popular  than 
ever.  Yet  the  change  of  texts  was  not  forgotten.  If 
in  the  future  any  other  indictments  were  brought 
against  him,  it  would  certainly  be  pinned  to  them. 

I  marvelled  long  over  Gavin's  jump  from  Ezra  to 
Genesis,  and  at  this  his  first  philippic  against  Woman, 
but  I  have  known  the  cause  for  many  a  year.  The 
Bible  was  the  one  that  had  lain  on  the  summer-seat 
while  the  Egyptian  hid  there.  It  was  the  great  pulpit 
Bible  which  remains  in  the  church  as  a  rule,  but  Gavin 
had  taken  it  home  the  previous  day  to  make  some  of 
its  loose  pages  secure  with  paste.  He  had  studied  from 
it  on  the  day  preceding  the  riot,  but  had  used  a  small 
Bible  during  the  rest  of  the  week.  When  he  turned  in 
the  pulpit  to  Ezra,  where  he  had  left  the  large  Bible 


fffrst  Sermon  Bgatnst  TKlometu  W 

open  in  the  summer-seat,  he  found  this  scrawled  across 
chapter  eight : — 

"  I  will  never  tell  who  flung  the  clod  at  Captain 
Halliwell.     But  why  did  you  fling  it?     I  will  never  tell 
that  you  allowed  me  to  be  called  Mrs.  Dishart  before 
witnesses.     But  is  not  this  a  Scotch  marriage?     Signed 
Babbie  the  Egyptian  ' 


CHAPTER    X.. 

TELLS    <N    A   WHISPER  OF  MAN'S  FALL  DURING  THE  CURL- 
ING SEASON. 

No  snow  could  be  seen  in  Thrums  by  the  beginning 
of  the  year,  though  clods  of  it  lay  in  Waster  Lunny's 
fields,  where  his  hens  wandered  all  day  as  if  looking  for 
something  they  had  dropped.  A  black  frost  had  set  in, 
and  one  walking  on  the  glen  road  could  imagine  that 
through  the  cracks  in  it  he  saw  a  loch  glistening.  From 
my  door  I  could  hear  the  roar  of  curling  stones  at  Rash- 
ie-bog,  which  is  almost  four  miles  nearer  Thrums.  On 
the  day  I  am  recalling,  I  see  that  I  only  made  one  entry 
in  my  diary,  "  At  last  bought  Waster  Lunny's  bantams." 
Well  do  I  remember  the  transaction,  and  no  wonder,  for 
I  had  all  but  bought  the  bantams  every  day  for  a  six 
months. 

About  noon  the  doctor's  dog-cart  was  observed  by  all 
the  Tenements  standing  at  the  Auld  Licht  manse.  The 
various  surmises  were  wrong.  Margaret  had  not  been 
suddenly  taken  ill ;  Jean  had  not  swallowed  a  darning- 
needle;  the  minister  had  not  walked  out  at  his  study 
window  in  a  moment  of  sublime  thought.  Gavin  stepped 
into  the  dog-cart,  which  at  once  drove  off  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Rashie-bog,  but  equally  in  error  were  those  who 
said  that  the  doctor  was  making  a  curler  of  him. 

There  was,  however,  ground  for  gossip ;  for  Thrums 
folk  seldom  called  in  a  doctor  until  it  was  too  late  to 
cure  them,  and  McQueen  was  not  the  man  to  pay  social 
visits.  Of  his  skill  we  knew  fearsome  stories,  as  that, 
by  looking  at  Archie  Allardyce,  who  had  come  to 


tTbe  Curling  Season.  101 

Droken  bones  on  a  ladder,  he  discovered  which  rung 
Archie  fell  from.  When  he  entered  a  stuffy  room  he 
would  poke  his  staff  through  the  window  to  let  in  fresh 
air,  and  then  fling  down  a  shilling  to  pay  for  the  break- 
age. He  was  deaf  in  the  right  ear,  and  therefore  usually 
took  the  left  side  of  prosy  people,  thus,  as  he  explained, 
making  a  blessing  of  an  affliction.  "A  pity  I  don't 
hear  better?"  I  have  heard  him  say.  "  Not  at  all.  If 
my  misfortune,  as  you  call  it,  were  to  be  removed,  you 
can't  conceive  how  I  should  miss  my  deaf  ear."  He 
was  a  fine  fellow,  though  brusque,  and  I  never  saw  him 
without  his  pipe  until  two  days  before  we  buried  him, 
which  was  five-and-twenty  years  ago  come  Martinmas. 

"We're  all  quite  weel,"  Jean  said  apprehensively  as 
she  answered  his  knock  on  the  manse  door,  and  she 
tried  to  be  pleasant,  too,  for  well  she  knew  that,  if  a 
doctor  willed  it,  she  could  have  fever  in  five  minutes. 

"Ay,  Jean,  I'll  soon  alter  that,"  he  replied  fero- 
ciously. "  Is  the  master  in?" 

"  He's  at  his  sermon,"  Jean  said  with  importance. 

To  interrupt  the  minister  at  such  a  moment  seemed 
sacrilege  to  her,  for  her  up-bringing  had  been  good. 
Her  mother  had  once  fainted  in  the  church,  but  though 
the  family's  distress  was  great,  they  neither  bore  her 
out,  nor  signed  to  the  kirk -officer  to  bring  water.  They 
propped  her  up  in  the  pew  in  a  respectful  attitude,  join- 
ing in  the  singing  meanwhile,  and  she  recovered  in  time 
to  look  up  2nd  Chronicles,  zist  and  yth. 

"  Tell  him  I  want  to  speak  to  him  at  the  door,"  said 
the  doctor  fiercely,  "or  I'll  bleed  you  this  minute." 

McQueen  would  not  enter,  because  his  horse  might 
have  seized  the  opportunity  to  return  stablewards.  At 
the  houses  where  it  was  accustomed  to  stop,  it  drew  up 
of  its  own  accord,  knowing  where  the  Doctor's  "  cases" 
were  as  well  as  himself,  but  it  resented  new  patients. 

"You  like  misery,  I  think,  Mr.  Dishart,"  MrQ/v?«^ 
said  when  Gavin  came  to  him,  "  at  least  I  vr.  always 


103  Ofce  little  flMnfster. 

finding  you  in  the  thick  of  it,  and  that  is  why  I  am  here 
now.  I  have  a  rare  job  for  you  if  you  will  jump  into 
the  machine.  You  know  Nanny  Webster,  who  lives  on 
the  edge  of  Windyghoul?  No,  you  don't,  for  she  be- 
longs to  the  other  kirk.  Well,  at  all  events,  you  knew 
her  brother,  Sanders,  the  mole-catcher?" 

"  I  remember  him.  You  mean  the  man  who  boasted 
so  much  about  seeing  a  ball  at  Lord  Rintoul's  place?" 

"The  same,  and,  as  you  may  know,  his  boasting 
about  maltreating  policemen  whom  he  never  saw  led  to 
his  being  sentenced  to  nine  months  in  gaol  lately." 

"That  is  the  man,"  said  Gavin.  "I  never  liked 
him." 

"No,  but  his  sister  did,"  McQueen  answered,  drily, 
"and  with  reason,  for  he  was  her  breadwinner,  and 
now  she  is  starving." 

"  Anything  I  can  give  her " 

"Would  be  too  little,  sir." 

"  But  the  neighbours " 

"  She  has  few  near  her,  and  though  the  Thrums  poor 
help  each  other  bravely,  they  are  at  present  nigh  as 
needy  as  herself.  Nanny  is  coming  to  the  poorhouse, 
Mr.  Dishart." 

"God  help  her!"  exclaimed  Gavin. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  the  doctor,  trying  to  make  himself 
a  hard  man.  "  She  will  be  properly  looked  after  there, 
and — and  in  time  she  will  like  it." 

"  Don't  let  my  mother  hear  you  speaking  of  taking  an 
old  woman  to  that  place,"  Gavin  said,  looking  anxiously 
up  the  stair,  I  cannot  pretend  that  Margaret  never 
(listened. 

"You  all  speak  as  if  the  poorhouse  was  a  gaol,"  the 
doctor  said  testily.  "  But  so  far  as  Nanny  is  concerned, 
everything  is  arranged.  I  promised  to  drive  her  to  the 
poorhouse  to-day,  and  she  is  waiting  for  me  now. 
Don't  look  at  me  as  if  I  was  a  brute.  She  is  to  take 
some  of  her  things  with  her  to  the  poorhouse,  and  the 


Gbc  Curling  Season.  103 

rest  is  to  be  left  until  Sanders's  return,  when  she  may 
rejoin  him.  At  least  we  said  that  to  her  to  comfort  her. " 

"You  want  me  to  go  with  you?" 

"Yes,  though  I  warn  you  it  may  be  a  distressing 
scene;  indeed,  the  truth  is  that  I  am  loth  to  face  Nanny 
alone  to-day.  Mr.  Duthie  should  have  accompanied 
me,  for  the  Websters  are  Established  Kirk;  ay,  and  so 
he  would  if  Rashie-bog  had  not  been  bearing.  A  terri- 
ble snare  this  curling,  Mr.  Dishart" — here  the  doctor 
sighed — "  I  have  known  Mr.  Duthie  wait  until  mid- 
night struck  on  Sabbath  and  then  be  off  to  Rashie-bog 
with  a  torch." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  Gavin  said,  putting  on  his  coat. 

"Jump  in  then.  You  won't  smoke?  I  never  see  a 
respectable  man  not  smoking,  sir,  but  I  feel  indignant 
with  him  for  such  sheer  waste  of  time." 

Gavin  smiled  at  this,  and  Snecky  Hobart,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  keeking  over  the  manse  dyke,  bore  the  news 
to  the  Tenements. 

"I'll  no  sleep  the  nicht,"  Snecky  said,  "for  wonder- 
ing what  made  the  minister  lauch.  Ay,  it  would  be  no 
trifle." 

A  minister,  it  is  certain,  who  wore  a  smile  on  his 
face  would  never  have  been  called  to  the  Auld  Licht 
kirk,  for  life  is  a  wrestle  with  the  devil,  and  only  the 
frivolous  think  to  throw  him  without  taking  off  their 
coats.  Yet,  though  Gavin's  zeal  was  what  the  congre- 
gation reverenced,  many  loved  him  privately  for  his 
boyishness.  He  could  unbend  at  marriages,  of  which 
he  had  six  on  the  last  day  of  the  year,  and  at  every  one 
of  them  he  joked  (the  same  joke)  like  a  layman.  Some 
did  not  approve  of  his  playing  at  the  teetotum  for  ten 
minutes  with  Kitty  Dundas's  invalid  son,  but  the  way 
Kitty  boasted  about  it  would  have  disgusted  anybody. 
At  the  present  day  there  are  probably  a  score  of  Gavins 
in  Thrums,  all  called  after  the  little  minister,  and  there 
is  one  Gavinia,  whom  he  hesitated  to  christen.  He 


104  ttbe  Xfttle  flfcinteter. 

made  humorous  remarks  (the  same  remark)  about  all 
these  children,  and  his  smile  as  he  patted  their  heads 
was  for  thinking  over  when  one's  work  was  done  for  the 
da)r. 

The  doctor's  horse  clattered  up  the  Backwynd  noisily, 
as  if  a  minister  behind  made  no  difference  to  it.  In- 
stead of  climbing  the  Roods,  however,  the  nearest  way 
to  Nanny's,  it  went  westward,  which  Gavin,  in  a  reverie, 
did  not  notice.  The  truth  must  be  told.  The  Egyptian 
was  again  in  his  head. 

"  Have  I  fallen  deaf  in  the  left  ear,  too?"  said  the 
doctor.  "  I  see  your  lips  moving,  but  I  don't  catch  a 
syllable." 

Gavin  started,  coloured,  and  flung  the  gypsy  out  of 
the  trap. 

"  Why  are  we  not  going  up  the  Roods?"  he  asked. 

"Well, "said  the  doctor  slowly,  "at  the  top  of  the 
Roods  there  is  a  stance  for  circuses,  and  this  old  beast 
of  mine  won't  pass  it.  You  know,  unless  you  are  be- 
hind in  the  clashes  and  clavers  of  Thrums,  that  I  bought 
her  from  the  manager  of  a  travelling  show.  She  was 
the  horse  ('Lightning'  they  called  her)  that  galloped 
round  the  ring  at  a  mile  an  hour,  and  so  at  the  top  of 
the  Roods  she  is  still  unmanageable.  She  once  dragged 
me  to  the  scene  of  her  former  triumphs,  and  went  re- 
volving round  it,  dragging  the  machine  after  her. " 

"  If  you  had  not  explained  that,"  said  Gavin,  "  I  might 
have  thought  that  you  wanted  to  pass  by  Rashie-bog. " 

The  doctor,  indeed,  was  already  standing  up  to  catch 
a  first  glimpse  of  the  curlers. 

"  Well,"  he  admitted,  "  I  might  have  managed  to  pass 
the  circus  ring,  though  what  I  have  told  you  is  true. 
However,  I  have  not  come  this  way  merely  to  see  how 
the  match  is  going.  I  want  to  shame  Mr.  Duthie  for 
neglecting  his  duty.  It  will  help  me  to  do  mine,  for 
the  Lord  knows  I  am  finding  it  hard,  with  the  music 
of  these  stones  in  my  ears." 


Gbe  Curling  Season.  ion 

"I  never  saw  it  played  before,"  Gavin  said,  standing 
up  in  his  turn.  "What  a  din  they  make!  McQueen,  I 
believe  they  are  fighting!" 

"No,  no,"  said  the  excited  doctor,  "they  are  just  a 
bit  daft.  That's  the  proper  spirit  for  the  game.  Look, 
that's  the  baron-bailie  near  standing  on  his  head,  and 
there's  Mr.  Duthie  off  his  head  a'  thegither.  Yon's 
twa  weavers  and  a  mason  cursing  the  laird,  and  the  man 
wi*  the  besom  is  the  Master  of  Crumnathie." 

"A  democracy,  at  all  events,"  said  Gavin. 

"By  no  means,"  said  the  doctor,  "it's  an  aristocracy 
of  intellect.  Gee  up,  Lightning,  or  the  frost  will  be 
gone  before  we  are  there." 

"  It  is  my  opinion,  doctor,"  said  Gavin,  "  that  you  will 
have  bones  to  set  before  that  game  is  finished.  I  can 
see  nothing  but  legs  now." 

"Don't  say  a  word  against  curling,  sir,  to  me,"  said 
McQueen,  whom  the  sight  of  a  game  in  which  he  must 
not  play  had  turned  crusty.  "  Dangerous !  It's  the  best 
medicine  I  know  of.  Look  at  that  man  coming  across 
the  field.  It  is  Jo  Strachan.  Well,  sir,  curling  saved 
Jo's  life  after  I  had  given  him  up.  You  don't  believe 
me?  Hie,  Jo,  Jo  Strachan,  come  here  and  tell  the  min- 
ister how  curling  put  you  on  your  legs  again. " 

Strachan  came  forward,  a  tough,  little,  wizened 
man,  with  red  flannel  round  his  ears  to  keep  out  the 
cold. 

"It's  gospel  what  the  doctor  says,  Mr.  Dishart,"  he 
declared.  "Me  and  my  brither  Sandy  was  baith  ill, 
and  in  the  same  bed,  and  the  doctor  had  hopes  o'  Sandy, 
but  nane  o*  me.  Ay,  weel,  when  I  heard  that,  I  thocht 
I  micht  as  weel  die  on  the  ice  as  in  my  bed,  so  I  up  and 
on  wi'  my  claethes.  Sandy  was  mad  at  me,  for  he  was 
no  curler,  and  he  says,  'Jo  Strachan,  if  you  gang  to 
Rashie-bog  you'll  assuredly  be  brocht  name  a  corp. '  I 
didna  heed  him,  though,  and  off  I  gaed. " 

"  And  I  see  you  did  not  die, "  said  Gavin. 


106  3be  JLltilc  Minister. 

"Not  me,"  answered  the  fish  cadger,  with  a  grin. 
"Na,  but  the  joke  o't  is,  it  was  Sandy  that  died." 

"  Not  the  joke,  Jo,"  corrected  the  doctor,  "  the  moral." 

"Ay,  the  moral;  I'm  aye  forgetting  the  word." 

McQueen,  enjoying  Gavin's  discomfiture,  turned 
Lightning  down  the  Rashie-bog  road,  which  would  be 
impassable  as  soon  as  the  thaw  came.  In  summer 
Rashie-bog  is  several  fields  in  which  a  cart  does  not 
sink  unless  it  stands  still,  but  in  winter  it  is  a  loch  with 
here  and  there  a  spring  where  dead  men  are  said  to  lie. 
There  are  no  rushes  at  its  east  end,  and  here  the  dog- 
cart drew  up  near  the  curlers,  a  crowd  of  men  dancing, 
screaming,  shaking  their  fists  and  sweeping,  while  half 
a  hundred  onlookers  got  in  their  way,  gesticulating  and 
advising. 

"  Hold  me  tight,"  the  doctor  whispered  to  Gavin,  "or 
I'll  be  leaving  you  to  drive  Nanny  to  the  poorhouse  by 
yourself." 

He  had  no  sooner  said  this  than  he  tried  to  jump  out 
of  the  trap. 

"You  donnert  fule,  John  Robbie,"  he  shouted  to  a 
player,  "soop  her  up,  man,  soop  her  up;  no,  no,  dinna, 
dinna;  leave  her  alane.  Bailie,  leave  her  alane,  you 
blazing  idiot.  Mr.  Dishart,  let  me  go:  what  do  you 
mean,  sir,  by  hanging  on  to  my  coat  tails?  Dang  it 
all,  Duthie's  winning.  He  has  it,  he  has  it!" 

"You're  to  play,  doctor?"  some  cried,  running  to  the 
dog-cart.  "  We  hae  missed  you  sair. " 

"Jeames,  I — I — .     No,  I  daurna." 

"  Then  we  get  our  licks.  I  never  saw  the  minister  in 
sic  form.  We  can  do  nothing  against  him." 

"Then,"  cried  McQueen,  "I'll  play.  Come  what 
will,  I'll  play.  Let  go  my  tails,  Mr.  Dishart,  or  I'll 
cut  them  off.  Duty?  Fiddlesticks!" 

"Shame  on  you,  sir,"  said  Gavin;  "yes,  and  on  yon 
others  who  would  entice  him  from  his  duty." 

"Shame!"   the  doctor  cried.     "Look  at  Mr.  Duthie, 


Cbc  Curling  Season.  107 

Is  he  ashamed?  And  yet  that  man  has  been  reproving 
me  for  a  twelvemonths  because  I've  refused  to  become 
one  of  his  elders.  Duthie,"  he  shouted,  "think  shame 
of  yourself  for  curling  this  day. " 

Mr.  Duthie  had  carefully  turned  his  back  to  the  trap, 
for  Gavin's  presence  in  it  annoyed  him.  We  seldom 
care  to  be  reminded  of  our  duty  by  seeing  another  do 
it.  Now,  however,  he  advanced  to  the  dog-cart,  taking 
the  far  side  of  Gavin. 

"Put  on  your  coat,  Mr.  Duthie,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  and  come  with  me  to  Nanny  Webster's.  You  prom- 
ised." 

Mr.  Duthie  looked  quizzically  at  Gavin,  and  then  at 
the  sky. 

"  The  thaw  may  come  at  any  moment,"  he  said. 

"  I  think  the  frost  is  to  hold,"  said  Gavin. 

"It  may  hold  over  to-morrow/'  Mr.  Duthie  admitted; 
"but  to-morrow's  the  Sabbath,  and  so  a  lost  day." 

"A  what?"  exclaimed  Gavin,  horrified. 

"I  only  mean,"  Mr.  Duthie  answered,  colouring, 
"that  we  can't  curl  on  the  Lord's  day.  As  for  what  it 
may  be  like  on  Monday,  no  one  can  say.  No,  doctor, 
I  won't  risk  it  We're  in  the  middle  of  a  game, 
man." 

Gavin  looked  very  grave. 

"I  see  what  you  are  thinking,  Mr.  Dishart,"  the  old 
minister  said  doggedly;  "but  then,  you  don't  curl. 
You  are  very  wise.  I  have  forbidden  my  sons  to 
curl." 

"  Then  you  openly  snap  your  fingers  at  your  duty, 
Mr.  Duthie?"  said  the  doctor,  loftily.  ("You  can  let 
go  my  tails  now,  Mr.  Dishart,  for  the  madness  has 
passed.") 

"  None  of  your  virtuous  airs,  McQueen, "  said  Mr. 
Duthie,  hotly.  "  What  was  the  name  of  the  doctor  that 
warned  women  never  to  have  bairns  while  it  was  baud- 
ing?" 


108  ttbe  Xitttc  /fcfnistet. 

"And  what,"  retorted  McQueen,  "was  the  name  of 
the  minister  that  told  his  session  he  would  neither 
preach  nor  pray  while  the  black  frost  lasted?" 

"Hoots,  doctor,"  said  Duthie,  "don't  lose  your  tem- 
per because  I'm  in  such  form." 

"Don't  lose  yours,  Duthie,  because  I  aye  beat 
you. " 

"You  beat  me,  McQueen!  Go  home,  sir,  and  don't 
talk  havers.  Who  beat  you  at " 


"  Who  made  you  sing  small  at " 

"Who  won " 

"Who " 

«  Who " 

"I'll  play  you  on  Monday  for  whatever  you  like!" 
shrieked  the  doctor. 

"If  it  holds,"  cried  the  minister,  "I'll  be  here  the 
whole  day.  Name  the  stakes  yourself.  A  stone?" 

"No,"  the  doctor  said,  "but  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll 
play  for.  You've  been  dinging  me  doited  about  that 
eldership,  and  we'll  play  for't.  If  you  win  I  accept 
office." 

"  Done,"  said  the  minister,  recklessly. 

The  dog-cart  was  now  turned  toward  Windyghoul, 
its  driver  once  more  good-humoured,  but  Gavin  si- 
lent. 

"  You  would  have  been  the  better  of  my  deaf  ear  just 
now,  Mr.  Dishart,"  McQueen  said  after  the  loch  had 
been  left  behind.  "  Aye,  and  I'm  thinking  my  pipe 
would  soothe  you.  But  don't  take  it  so  much  to  heart, 
man.  I'll  lick  him  easily.  He's  a  decent  man,  the 
minister,  but  vain  of  his  play,  ridiculously  vain.  How- 
ever, I  think  the  sight  of  you,  in  the  place  that  should 
have  been  his,  has  broken  his  nerve  for  this  day,  and 
our  side  may  win  yet." 

"I  believe,"  Gavin  said,  with  sudden  enlightenment, 
"that  you  brought  me  here  for  that  purpose." 

"Maybe,"  chuckled  the  doctor;   "maybe."     Then  he 


Gbe  dueling  Season.  109 

changed  the  subject  suddenly.  "Mr.  Dishart,"  he 
asked,  "  were  you  ever  in  love?" 

"Never!"  answered  Gavin  violently. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  doctor,  "don't  terrify  the 
horse.  I  have  been  in  love  myself.  It's  bad,  but  it's 
nothing  to  curling. " 


CHAPTER    XII. 

TRAGEDY  OF  A  MUD  HOUSE. 

THE  dog-cart  bumped  between  the  trees  of  Caddam, 
flinging  Gavin  and  the  doctor  at  each  other  as  a  wheel 
rose  on  some  beech-root  or  sank  for  a  moment  in  a  pool. 
I  suppose  the  wood  was  a  pretty  sight  that  day,  the 
pines  only  white  where  they  had  met  the  snow,  as  if  the 
numbed  painter  had  left  his  work  unfinished,  the  brittle 
twigs  snapping  overhead,  the  water  as  black  as  tar. 
But  it  matters  little  what  the  wood  was  like.  Within 
a  squirrel's  leap  of  it  an  old  woman  was  standing  at  the 
door  of  a  mud  house  listening  for  the  approach  of  the 
trap  that  was  to  take  her  to  the  poorhouse.  Can  you 
think  of  the  beauty  of  the  day  now? 

Nanny  was  not  crying.  She  had  redd  up  her  house 
for  the  last  time  and  put  on  her  black  merino.  Her 
mouth  was  wide  open  while  she  listened.  If  you  had 
addressed  her  you  would  have  thought  her  polite  and 
stupid.  Look  at  her.  A  flabby-faced  woman  she  is 
now,  with  a  swollen  body,  and  no  one  has  heeded  her 
much  these  thirty  years.  I  can  tell  you  something ;  it 
is  almost  droll.  Nanny  Webster  was  once  a  gay  flirt, 
and  in  Airlie  Square  there  is  a  weaver  with  an  unsteady 
head  who  thought  all  the  earth  of  her.  His  loom  has 
taken  a  foot  from  his  stature,  and  gone  are  Nanny's 
raven  locks  on  which  he  used  to  place  his  adoring  hand. 
Down  in  Airlie  Square  he  is  weaving  for  his  life,  and 
here  is  Nanny,  ripe  for  the  poorhouse,  and  between 
them  is  the  hill  where  they  were  lovers.  That  is  all 
the  story  save  that  when  Nanny  heard  the  dog-cart  she 
screamed. 


or  a  /Bu&  1>ou0e.  Ill 

No  neighbour  was  with  her.  If  you  think  this  hai^, 
it  is  because  you  do  not  understand.  Perhaps  Nanny 
had  never  been  very  lovable  except  to  one  man,  and 
him,  it  is  said,  she  lost  through  her  own  vanity;  but 
there  was  much  in  her  to  like.  The  neighbours,  of 
whom  there  were  two  not  a  hundred  yards  away,  would 
have  been  with  her  now  but  they  feared  to  hurt  her 
feelings.  No  heart  opens  to  sympathy  without  letting 
in  delicacy,  and  these  poor  people  knew  that  Nanny 
would  not  like  them  to  see  her  being  taken  away.  For 
n  week  they  had  been  aware  of  what  was  coming,  and 
they  had  been  most  kind  to  her,  but  that  hideous  word, 
the  poorhouse,  they  had  not  uttered.  Poorhouse  is  not 
to  be  spoken  in  Thrums,  though  it  is  nothing  to  tell  a 
man  that  you  see  death  in  his  face.  Did  Nanny  think 
they  knew  where  she  was  going?  was  a  question  they 
whispered  to  each  other,  and  her  suffering  eyes  cut 
scars  on  their  hearts.  So  now  that  the  hour  had  come 
they  called  their  children  into  their  houses  and  pulled 
down  their  blinds. 

"  If  you  would  like  to  see  her  by  yourself,"  the  doctor 
said  eagerly  to  Gavin,  as  the  horse  drew  up  at  Nanny's 
gate,  "I'll  wait  with  the  horse.  Not,"  he  added,  has- 
tily, "  that  I  feel  sorry  for  her.  We  are  doing  her  a 
kindness." 

They  dismounted  together,  however,  and  Nanny,  who 
had  run  from  the  trap  into  the  house,  watched  them 
from  her  window. 

McQueen  saw  her  and  said  glumly,  "  I  should  have 
come  alone,  for  if  you  pray  she  is  sure  to  break  down. 
Mr.  Dishart,  could  you  not  pray  cheerfully?" 

"You  don't  look  very  cheerful  yourself,"  Gavin  said 
sadly. 

"Nonsense,"  answered  the  doctor.  "I  have  no 
patience  with  this  false  sentiment.  Stand  still,  Light- 
ning, and  be  thankful  you  are  not  your  master  to- 
day. " 


112  Cbe  Xittlc  flbtnister. 

The  door  stood  open,  and  Nanny  was  crouching 
against  the  opposite  wall  of  the  room,  such  a  poor,  dull 
kitchen,  that  you  would  have  thought  the  furniture  had 
still  to  be  brought  into  it.  The  blanket  and  the  piece 
of  old  carpet  that  was  Nanny's  coverlet  were  already 
packed  in  her  box.  The  plate  rack  was  empty.  Only 
the  round  table  and  the  two  chairs,  and  the  stools  and 
some  pans  were  being  left  behind. 

"Well,  Nanny,"  the  doctor  said,  trying  to  bluster,  "  I 
have  come,  and  you  see  Mr.  Dishart  is  with  me. " 

Nanny  rose  bravely.  She  knew  the  doctor  was  good 
to  her,  and  she  wanted  to  thank  him.  I  have  not  seen 
a  great  deal  of  the  world  myself,  but  often  the  sweet 
politeness  of  the  aged  poor  has  struck  me  as  beautiful. 
Nanny  dropped  a  curtesy,  an  ungainly  one  maybe,  but 
it  was  an  old  woman  giving  the  best  she  had. 

"Thank  you  kindly,  sirs,"  she  said;  and  then  two 
pairs  of  eyes  dropped  before  hers. 

"Please  to  take  a  chair,"  she  added  timidly.  It  is 
strange  to  know  that  at  that  awful  moment,  for  let  none 
tell  me  it  was  less  than  awful,  the  old  woman  was  the 
one  who  could  speak. 

Both  men  sat  down,  for  they  would  have  hurt  Nanny 
by  remaining  standing.  Some  ministers  would  have 
known  the  right  thing  to  say  to  her,  but  Gavin  dared 
not  let  himself  speak.  I  have  again  to  remind  you  that 
he  was  only  one-and-twenty. 

"I'm  drouthy,  Nanny,"  the  doctor  said,  to  give  her 
something  to  do,  "  and  I  would  be  obliged  for  a  drink 
of  water." 

Nanny  hastened  to  the  pan  that  stood  behind  her 
door,  but  stopped  before  she  reached  it. 

"It's  toom,"  she  said,  "I — I  didna  think  I  needed  to 
fill  it  this  morning."  She  caught  the  doctor's  eye,  and 
could  only  half  restrain  a  sob.  "I  couldna  help  that," 
she  said,  apologetically.  "I'm  richt  angry  at  myself 
for  being  so  ungrateful  like. " 


or  a  fl&uD  f>ouse.  n» 

The  doctor  thought  it  best  that  they  should  depart  at 
once.  He  rose. 

"Oh,  no,  doctor,"  cried  Nanny  in  alarm. 

"  But  you  are  ready?" 

"Ay,"  she  said,  "I  have  been  ready  this  twa  hours, 
but  you  micht  wait  a  minute.  Hendry  Munn  and  An- 
drew Allardyce  is  coming  yont  the  road,  and  they  would 
see  me." 

"Wait,  doctor,"  Gavin  said. 

"Thank  you  kindly,  sir,"  answered  Nanny. 

"But  Nanny,"  the  doctor  said,  "you  must  remember 
what  I  told  you  about  the  poo — ,  about  the  place  you 
are  going  to.  It  is  a  fine  house,  and  you  will  be  very 
happy  in  it." 

"Ay,  I'll  be  happy  in't,"  Nanny  faltered,  "but,  doc~ 
tor,  if  I  could  just  hae  bidden  on  here  though  I  wasna 
happy!" 

"  Think  of  the  food  you  will  get ;  broth  nearly  every 
day." 

"It — it'll  be  terrible  enjoyable,"  Nanny  said. 

"  And  there  will  be  pleasant  company  for  you  always," 
continued  the  doctor,  "  and  a  nice  room  to  sit  in. 
Why,  after  you  have  been  there  a  week,  you  won't  be 
the  same  woman." 

"That's  it!"  cried  Nanny  with  sudden  passion. 
"  Na,  na;  I'll  be  a  woman  on  the  poor's  rates.  Oh, 
mither,  mither,  you  little  thocht  when  you  bore  me  that 
I  would  come  to  this!" 

"Nanny,"  the  doctor  said,  rising  again,  "I  am 
ashamed  of  you." 

"I  humbly  speir  your  forgiveness,  sir,"  she  said, 
"and  you  micht  bide  just  a  wee  yet.  I've  been  ready 
to  gang  these  twa  hours,  but  now  that  the  machine  is 
at  the  gate,  I  dinna  ken  how  it  is,  but  I'm  terrible 
sweer  to  come  awa*.  Oh,  Mr.  Dishart,  it's  richt  true 
what  the  doctor  says  about  the — the  place,  but  I  canna 
just  take  it  in.  I'm — I'm  gey  >iuld." 
8 


114  tTbe  Xittlc  /fcinister. 

"You  will  often  get  out  to  see  your  friends,"  was  all 
Gavin  could  say. 

"Na,  na,  na,"  she  cried,  "dinna  say  that;  I'll  gang, 
but  you  mauna  bid  me  ever  come  out,  except  in  a 
hearse.  Dinna  let  onybody  in  Thrums  look  on  my  face 
again." 

"  We  must  go,"  said  the  doctor  firmly.  "  Put  on  your 
mutch,  Nanny." 

"  I  dinna  need  to  put  on  a  mutch,"  she  answered,  with 
a  faint  flush  of  pride.  "  I  have  a  bonnet. " 

She  took  the  bonnet  from  her  bed,  and  put  it  on 
slowly. 

"  Are  you  sure  there's  naebody  looking?"  she  asked. 

The  doctor  glanced  at  the  minister,  and  Gavin 
rose. 

"Let  us  pray,"  he  said,  and  the  three  went  down  on 
their  knees. 

It  was  not  the  custom  of  Auld  Licht  ministers  to 
leave  any  house  without  offering  up  a  prayer  in  it,  and 
to  us  it  always  seemed  that  when  Gavin  prayed,  he  was 
at  the  knees  of  God.  The  little  minister  pouring  him- 
self out  in  prayer  in  a  humble  room,  with  awed  people 
around  him  who  knew  much  more  of  the  world  than  he, 
his  voice  at  times  thick  and  again  a  squeal,  and  his 
hands  clasped  not  gracefully,  may  have  been  only  a 
comic  figure,  but  we  were  old-fashioned,  and  he  seemed 
to  make  us  better  men.  If  I  only  knew  the  way,  I 
would  draw  him  as  he  was,  and  not  fear  to  make  him 
too  mean  a  man  for  you  to  read  about.  He  had  not 
been  long  in  Thrums  before  he  knew  that  we  talked 
much  of  his  prayers,  and  that  doubtless  puffed  him  up 
a  little.  Sometimes,  I  daresay,  he  rose  from  his  knees 
feeling  that  he  had  prayed  well  to-day,  which  is  a 
dreadful  charge  to  bring  against  anyone.  But  it  was 
not  always  so,  nor  was  it  so  now. 

I  am  not  speaking  harshly  of  this  man,  whom  I  have 
loved  beyond  all  others,  when  I  say  that  Nanny  came 


of  a  rtSuo  Douse.  115 

between  him  and  his  prayer.  Had  he  been  of  God's 
own  image,  unstained,  he  would  have  forgotten  all  else 
in  his  Maker's  presence,  but  Nanny  was  speaking  too, 
and  her  words  choked  his.  At  first  she  only  whispered, 
but  soon  what  was  eating  her  heart  burst  out  pain- 
fully, and  she  did  not  know  that  the  minister  had 
stopped. 

They  were  such  moans  as  these  that  brought  him  back 
to  earth : — 

"  I'll  hae  to  gang  ...  I'm  a  base  woman  no'  to  be 
mair  thankfu'  to  them  that  is  so  good  to  me  ...  I 
dinna  like  to  prig  wi'  them  to  take  a  roundabout  road, 
and  I'm  sair  fleid  a'  the  Roods  will  see  me  ...  If  it 
could  just  be  said  to  poor  Sanders  when  he  comes  back 
that  I  died  hurriedly,  syne  he  would  be  able  to  haud 
up  his  head  .  .  .  Oh,  mither!  ...  I  wish  terrible 
they  had  come  and  ta'en  me  at  nicht  .  .  .  It's  a  dog- 
cart, and  I  was  praying  it  micht  be  a  cart,  so  that  they 
could  cover  me  wi'  straw." 

"This  is  more  than  I  can  stand,"  the  doctor  cried. 

Nanny  rose  frightened. 

"I've  tried  you,  sair,"  she  said,  "but,  oh,  I'm  grate- 
ful,  and  I'm  ready  now." 

They  all  advanced  toward  the  door  without  another 
word,  and  Nanny  even  tried  to  smile.  But  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor  something  came  over  her,  and  she  stood 
there.  Gavin  took  her  hand,  and  it  was  cold.  She 
looked  from  one  to  the  other,  her  mouth  opening  and 
shutting. 

"  I  canna  help  it,"  she  said. 

"  It's  cruel  hard,"  muttered  the  doctor.  "  I  knew  this 
woman  when  she  was  a  lassie." 

The  little  minister  stretched  out  his  hands. 

"Have  pity  on  her,  O  God!"  he  prayed,  with  the 
presumptuousness  of  youth. 

Nanny  heard  the  words. 

"Oh,  God,"  she  cried,  "you  micht!" 


116  Sbe  OLfttle  flbtntster. 

God  needs  no  minister  to  tell  Him  what  to  do,  but  it 
was  His  will  that  the  poorhouse  should  not  have  this 
woman.  He  made  use  of  a  strange  instrument,  no 
other  than  the  Egyptian,  who  now  opened  the  mud- 
house  door. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

SECOND  COMING  OF  THE  EGYPTIAN  WOMAN. 

THE  gypsy  had  been  passing  the  house,  perhaps  on 
her  way  to  Thrums  for  gossip,  and  it  was  only  curios- 
ity, born  suddenly  of  Gavin's  cry,  that  made  her  enter. 
On  finding  herself  in  unexpected  company  she  retained 
hold  of  the  door,  and  to  the  amazed  minister  she  seemed 
for  a  moment  to  have  stepped  into  the  mud  house  from 
his  garden.  Her  eyes  danced,  however,  as  they  recog- 
nised him,  and  then  he  hardened.  "  This  is  no  place 
for  you,"  he  was  saying  fiercely,  when  Nanny,  too  dis- 
traught to  think,  fell  crying  at  the  Egyptian's  feet. 

"They  are  taking  me  to  the  poorhouse,"  she  sobbed; 
"  dinna  let  them,  dinna  let  them." 

The  Egyptian's  arms  clasped  her,  and  the  Egyptian 
kissed  a  sallow  cheek  that  had  once  been  as  fair  as 
yours,  madam,  who  may  read  this  story.  No  one  had 
caressed  Nanny  for  many  years,  but  do  you  think  she 
was  too  poor  and  old  to  care  for  these  young  arms 
around  her  neck?  There  are  those  who  say  that  women 
cannot  love  each  other,  but  it  is  not  true.  Woman  is 
not  undeveloped  man,  but  something  better,  and  Gavin 
and  the  doctor  knew  it  as  they  saw  Nanny  clinging  to 
her  protector.  When  the  gypsy  turned  with  flashing 
eyes  to  the  two  men  she  might  have  been  a  mother 
guarding  her  child. 

''  How  dare  you!"  she  cried,  stamping  her  foot;  and 
they  quaked  like  malefactors. 

"You  don't  see —     "  Gavin  began,  but  her  indigna 
tion  stopped  him. 


118  d>e  ailttle  Afnfster. 

"  You  coward !"  she  said. 

Even  the  doctor  had  been  impressed,  so  that  he  now 
addressed  the  gypsy  respectfully. 

"This  is  all  very  well,"  he  said,  "but  a  woman's 
sympathy " 

"  A  woman ! — ah,  if  I  could  be  a  man  for  only  five 
minutes!" 

She  clenched  her  little  fists,  and  again  turned  to 
Nanny. 

"You  poor  dear,"  she  said  tenderly,"!  won't  let 
them  take  you  away." 

She  looked  triumphantly  at  both  minister  and  doctor, 
as  one  who  had  foiled  them  in  their  cruel  designs. 

"Go!"  she  said,  pointing  grandly  to  the  door. 

"Is  this  the  Egyptian  of  the  riots,"  the  doctor  said 
in  a  low  voice  to  Gavin,  "or  is  she  a  queen?  Hoots, 
man,  don't  look  so  shamefaced.  We  are  not  criminals. 
Say  something." 

Then  to  the  Egyptian  Gavin  said  firmly — 

"  You  mean  well,  but  you  are  doing  this  poor  woman 
a  cruelty  in  holding  out  hopes  to  her  that  cannot  be 
realised.  Sympathy  is  not  meal  and  bedclothes,  and 
these  are  what  she  needs." 

"And  you  who  live  in  luxury,"  retorted  the  girl, 
"  would  send  her  to  the  poorhouse  for  them.  I  thought 
better  of  you!" 

"Tuts!"  said  the  doctor,  losing  patience,  "Mr.  Dis- 
hart  gives  more  than  any  ®ther  man  in  Thrums  to  the 
poor,  and  he  is  not  to  be  preached  to  by  a  gypsy.  We 
are  waiting  for  you,  Nanny." 

"Ay,  I'm  coming,"  said  Nanny,  leaving  the  Egyp- 
tian. "I'll  hae  to  gang,  lassie.  Dinna  greet  for  me." 

But  the  Egyptian  said,  "  No,  you  are  not  going.  It 
is  these  men  who  are  going.  Go,  sirs,  and  leave  us." 

"  And  you  will  provide  for  Nanny?"  asked  the  doctor 
contemptuously. 

"Yes." 


Egyptian's  SeconD  Coming.  no 

u  And  where  is  the  siller  to  come  from?" 

"That  is  my  affair,  and  Nanny's.  Begone,  both  of 
you.  She  shall  never  want  again.  See  how  the  very 
mention  of  your  going  brings  back  life  to  her  face." 

"  I  won't  begone,"  the  doctor  said  roughly,  "  till  I  see 
the  colour  of  your  siller. " 

"  Oh,  the  money,"  said  the  Egyptian  scornfully.  She 
put  her  hand  into  her  pocket  confidently,  as  if  used  to 
well -filled  purses,  but  could  only  draw  out  two  silver 
pieces. 

"I  had  forgotten,"  she  said  aloud,  though  speaking 
to  herself. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  the  cynical  doctor.  "Come, 
Nanny." 

"You  presume  to  doubt  me!"  the  Egyptian  said, 
blocking  his  way  to  the  door. 

"  How  could  I  presume  to  believe  you?"  he  answered. 

"You  are  a  beggar  by  profession,  and  yet  talk  as  if 

pooh,  nonsense." 

"I  would  live  on  terrible  little,"  Nanny  whispered, 
"and  Sanders  will  be  out  again  in  August  month." 

"  Seven  shillings  a  week,"  rapped  out  the  doctor. 

"  Is  that  all?"  the  Egyptian  asked.  "  She  shall  have 
it." 

"When?" 

"At  once.  No,  it  is  not  possible  to-night,  but  to- 
morrow I  will  bring  five  pounds;  no,  I  will  send  it;  no, 
you  must  come  for  it." 

"And  where,  O  daughter  of  Dives,  do  you  reside?" 
the  doctor  asked. 

No  doubt  the  Egyptian  could  have  found  a  ready  an- 
swer had  her  pity  for  Nanny  been  less  sincere ;  as  it 
was,  she  hesitated,  wanting  to  propitiate  the  doctor, 
while  holding  her  secret  fast. 

"I  only  asked,"  McQueen  said,  eyeing  her  curiouslv, 
"because  when  I  make  an  appointment  I  like  to  know 
where  it  is  to  be  held.  But  I  suppose  you  are  suddenly 


130  Cbe  Xtttle  dMuidter. 

to  rise  out  of  the  ground  as  you  have  done  to-day,  and 
did  six  weeks  ago." 

"  Whether  I  rise  out  of  the  ground  or  not, "  the  gypsy 
said,  keeping  her  temper  with  an  effort,  "  there  will  be 
a  five-pound  note  in  my  hand.  You  will  meet  me  to- 
morrow about  this  hour  at — say  the  Kaims  of  Cushie?" 

"No,"  said  the  doctor  after  a  moment's  pause;  "I 
won't.  Even  if  I  went  to  the  Kaims  I  should  not  find 
you  there.  Why  can  you  not  come  to  me?" 

"Why  do  you  carry  a  woman's  hair,"  replied  the 
Egyptian,  "  in  that  locket  on  your  chain?" 

Whether  she  was  speaking  of  what  she  knew,  or  this 
was  only  a  chance  shot,  I  cannot  tell,  but  the  doctor 
stepped  back  from  her  hastily,  and  could  not  help  look- 
ing down  at  the  locket. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Egyptian  calmly,  "  it  is  still  shut;  but 
why  do  you  sometimes  open  it  at  nights?" 

"  Lassie,"  the  old  doctor  cried,  "  are  you  a  witch?" 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said;  "but  I  ask  for  no  answer  to  my 
questions.  If  you  have  your  secrets,  why  may  I  not 
have  mine?  Now  will  you  meet  me  at  the  Kaims?" 

"  No ;  I  distrust  you  more  than  ever.  Even  if  you 
came,  it  would  be  to  play  with  me  as  you  have  done 
already.  How  can  a  vagrant  have  five  pounds  in  her 
pocket  when  she  does  not  have  five  shillings  on  her 
back?" 

"You  are  a  cruel,  hard  man,"  the  Egyptian  said,  be- 
ginning to  lose  hope.  "  But,  see,"  she  cried,  "  brighten- 
ing, "look  at  this  ring.  Do  you  know  its  value?" 

She  held  up  her  finger,  but  the  stone  would  not  live 
in  the  dull  light. 

"  I  see  it  is  gold,"  the  doctor  said  cautiously,  and  she 
smiled  at  the  ignorance  that  made  him  look  only  at  the 
frame. 

"Certainly,  it  is  gold,"  said  Gavin,  equally  stupid. 

"Mercy  on  us!"  Nanny  cried;  "I  believe  it's  what 
they  call  a  diamond." 


£be  Egyptian's  Second  Coming,  121 

"  How  did  you  come  by  it?"  the  doctor  asked  sus- 
piciously. 

"  I  thought  we  had  agreed  not  to  ask  each  other  ques- 
tions," the  Egyptian  answered  drily.  "But,  see,  I  will 
give  it  to  you  to  hold  in  hostage.  If  I  am  not  at  the 
Kaims  to  get  it  back  you  can  keep  it." 

The  doctor  took  the  ring  in  his  hand  and  examined  it 
curiously. 

"There  is  a  quirk  in  this,"  he  said  at  last,  "that  I 
don't  like.  Take  back  your  ring,  lassie.  Mr.  Dishart, 
give  Nanny  your  arm,  and  I'll  carry  her  box  to  the 
machine." 

Now  all  this  time  Gavin  had  been  in  the  dire  distress 
of  a  man  possessed  of  two  minds,  of  which  one  said, 
"This  is  a  true  woman,"  and  the  other,  "Remember 
the  seventeenth  of  October."  They  were  at  war  within 
him,  and  he  knew  that  he  must  take  a  side,  yet  no 
sooner  had  he  cast  one  out  than  he  invited  it  back.  He 
did  not  answer  the  doctor. 

"Unless,"  McQueen  said,  nettled  by  his  hesitation, 
"you  trust  this  woman's  word." 

Gavin  tried  honestly  to  weigh  those  two  minds  against 
each  other,  but  could  not  prevent  impulse  jumping  into 
one  of  the  scales. 

"  You  do  trust  me,"  the  Egyptian  said,  with  wet  eyes; 
and  now  that  he  looked  on  her  again — 

"Yes,"  he  said  firmly,  "I  trust  you,"  and  the  words 
that  had  been  so  difficult  to  say  were  the  right  words. 
He  had  no  more  doubt  of  it. 

"Just  think  a  moment  first,"  the  doctor  warned  him. 
"  I  decline  to  have  anything  to  do  with  this  matter. 
You  will  go  to  the  Kaims  for  the  siller?" 

"  If  it  is  necessary,"  said  Gavin. 

"  It  is  necessary,"  the  Egyptian  said. 

"Then  I  will  go." 

Nanny  took  his  hand  timidly,  and  would  have  kissed 
it  had  he  been  less  than  a  minister. 


122  vTbc  Xittlc  /Dtnister. 

"You  dare  not,  man,"  the  doctor  said  gruffly,  "make 
an  appointment  with  this  gypsy.  Think  of  what  will 
be  said  in  Thrums." 

I  honour  Gavin  for  the  way  in  which  he  took  this 
warning.  For  him,  who  was  watched  from  the  rising 
of  his  congregation  to  their  lying  down,  whose  every 
movement  was  expected  to  be  a  text  to  Thrums,  it  was 
no  small  thing  that  he  had  promised.  This  he  knew, 
but  he  only  reddened  because  the  doctor  had  implied 
an  offensive  thing  in  a  woman's  presence. 

"  You  forget  yourself,  doctor, "  he  said  sharply. 

"Send  some  one  in  your  place,"  advised  the  doctor, 
who  liked  the  little  minister. 

"He  must  come  himself  and  alone,"  said  the  Egyp- 
tian. "You  must  both  give  me  your  promise  not  to 
mention  who  is  Nanny's  friend,  and  she  must  promise 
too." 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  buttoning  up  his  coat,  "I 
cannot  keep  my  horse  freezing  any  longer.  Remem- 
ber, Mr.  Dishart,  you  take  the  sole  responsibility  of  this. " 

"  I  do,"  said  Gavin,  "  and  with  the  utmost  confidence." 

"Give  him  the  ring  then,  lassie,"  said  McQueen. 

She  handed  the  minister  the  ring,  but  he  would  not 
take  it. 

"  I  have  your  word,"  he  said;  "  that  is  sufficient." 

Then  the  Egyptian  gave  him  the  first  look  that  he 
could  think  of  afterwards  without  misgivings. 

"So  be  it,"  said  the  doctor.  "Get  the  money,  and  I 
will  say  nothing  about  it,  unless  I  have  reason  to  think 
that  it  has  been  dishonestly  come  by.  Don't  look  so 
frightened  at  me,  Nanny.  I  hope  for  your  sake  that 
her  stocking-foot  is  full  of  gold." 

"Surely  it's  worth  risking,"  Nanny  said,  not  very 
brightly,  "when  the  minister's  on  her  side." 

"  Ay,  but  on  whose  side,  Nanny?"  asked  the  doctor. 
"  Lassie,  I  bear  you  no  grudge ;  will  you  not  tell  me 
who  you  are?" 


£be  SflBptfan'fi  Second  Coining.  128 

"Only  a  puir  gypsy,  your  honour,"  said  the  girl,  be- 
coming mischievous  now  that  she  had  gained  her  point; 
"only  a  wandering  hallen-shaker,  and  will  I  tell  you 
your  fortune,  my  pretty  gentleman?" 

"No,  you  shan't,"  replied  the  doctor,  plunging  his 
hands  so  hastily  into  his  pockets  that  Gavin  laughed. 

"  I  don't  need  to  look  at  your  hand,"  said  the  gypsy, 
**  I  can  read  your  fortune  in  your  face. " 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly,  so  that  he  fidgeted. 

"  I  see  you,"  said  the  Egyptian  in  a  sepulchral  voice, 
and  speaking  slowly,  "become  very  frail.  Your  eye- 
sight has  almost  gone.  You  are  sitting  alone  in  a 
cauld  room,  cooking  your  ain  dinner  ower  a  feeble  fire. 
The  soot  is  falling  down  the  lum.  Your  bearish  man- 
ners towards  women  have  driven  the  servant  lassie  frae 
your  house,  and  your  wife  beats  you." 

"Ay,  you  spoil  your  prophecy  there,"  the  doctor  said, 
considerably  relieved,  "for  I'm  not  married;  my  pipe's 
the  only  wife  I  ever  had. " 

"You  will  be  married  by  that  time,"  continued  the 
Egyptian,  frowning  at  this  interruption,  "  for  I  see  your 
wife.  She  is  a  shrew.  She  marries  you  in  your  dotage. 
She  lauchs  at  you  in  company.  She  doesna  allow  you 
to  smoke." 

"Away  with  you,  you  jade,"  cried  the  doctor  in  a 
fury,  and  feeling  nervously  for  his  pipe.  "  Mr.  Dishart, 
you  had  better  stay  and  arrange  this  matter  as  you 
choose,  but  I  want  a  word  with  you  outside." 

"And  you're  no  angry  wi'  me,  doctor,  are  you?" 
asked  Nanny  wistfully.  "You've  been  richt  good  to 
me,  but  I  canna  thole  the  thocht  o'  that  place.  And, 
oh,  doctor,  you  winna  tell  naebody  that  I  was  so  near 
taen  to  it?" 

In  the  garden  McQueen  said  to  Gavin : — 

"  You  may  be  right,  Mr.  Dishart,  in  this  matter,  for 
there  is  this  in  our  favour,  that  the  woman  can  gain 
nothing  by  tricking  us.  She  did  seem  to  feel  for 


124  Cbe  Xlttle  flfcinteter. 

Nanny.  But  who  can  she  be?  You  saw  she  could  put 
on  and  off  the  Scotch  tongue  as  easily  as  if  it  were  a 
•cap." 

"She  is  as  much  a  mystery  to  me  as  to  you,"  Gavin 
answered,  "  but  she  will  give  me  the  money,  and  that 
is  all  I  ask  of  her." 

"  Ay,  that  remains  to  be  seen.  But  take  care  of  your- 
self;  a  man's  second  childhood  begins  when  a  woman 
gets  hold  of  him." 

"  Don't  alarm  yourself  about  me,  doctor.  I  daresay 
she  is  only  one  of  those  gypsies  from  the  South.  They 
are  said  to  be  wealthy,  many  of  them,  and  even,  when 
they  like,  to  have  a  grand  manner.  The  Thrums  peo- 
ple had  no  doubt  but  that  she  was  what  she  seemed  to 
be." 

"  Ay,  but  what  does  she  seem  to  be?  Even  that  puz- 
zles me.  And  then  there  is  this  mystery  about  her 
which  she  admits  herself,  though  perhaps  only  to  play 
with  us." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Gavin,  "she  is  only  taking  precau- 
tions against  her  discovery  by  the  police.  You  must 
remember  her  part  in  the  riots." 

"  Yes,  but  we  never  learned  how  she  was  able  to  play 
that  part.  Besides,  there  is  no  fear  in  her,  or  she  would 
not  have  ventured  back  to  Thrums.  However,  good 
luck  attend  you.  But  be  wary.  You  saw  how  she  kept 
her  feet  among  her  shalls  and  wills?  Never  trust  a 
Scotch  man  or  woman  who  does  not  come  to  grief  among 
them. " 

The  doctor  took  his  seat  in  the  dog-cart. 

"And,  Mr.  Dishart,"  he  called  out,  "that  was  all 
nonsense  about  the  locket. " 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE  MINISTER  DANCES  TO  THE  WOMAN'S  PIPING. 

GAVIN  let  the  doctor's  warnings  fall  in  the  grass.  In 
his  joy  over  Nanny's  deliverance  he  jumped  the  garden 
gate,  whose  hinges  were  of  yarn,  and  cleverly  caught 
his  hat  as  it  was  leaving  his  head  in  protest.  He  then 
re-entered  the  mud  house  staidly.  Pleasant  was  the 
change.  Nanny's  home  was  as  a  clock  that  had  been 
run  out,  and  is  set  going  again.  Already  the  old  woman 
was  unpacking  her  box,  to  increase  the  distance  between 
herself  and  the  poorhouse.  But  Gavin  only  saw  her  in 
the  background,  for  the  Egyptian,  singing  at  her  work, 
had  become  the  heart  of  the  house.  She  had  flung  her 
shawl  over  Nanny's  shoulders,  and  was  at  the  fireplace 
breaking  peats  with  the  leg  of  a  stool.  She  turned 
merrily  to  the  minister  to  ask  him  to  chop  up  his  staff 
for  firewood,  and  he  would  have  answered  wittily  but 
could  not.  Then,  as  often,  the  beauty  of  the  Egyptian 
surprised  him  into  silence.  I  could  never  get  used  to 
her  face  myself  in  the  after-days.  It  has  always  held 
me  wondering,  like  my  own  Glen  Quharity  on  a  sum- 
mer day,  when  the  sun  is  lingering  and  the  clouds  are 
on  the  march,  and  the  glen  is  never  the  same  for  two 
minutes,  but  always  so  beautiful  as  to  make  me  sad. 
Never  will  I  attempt  to  picture  the  Egyptian  as  she 
seemed  to  Gavin  while  she  bent  over  Nanny's  fire,  never 
will  I  describe  my  glen.  Yet  a  hundred  times  have  I 
hankered  after  trying  to  picture  both. 

An  older  minister,  believing  that  Nanny's  anguish 
was  ended,  might  have  gone  on  his  knees  and  finished 


126  Gbe  Xlttle  Minister. 

the  interrupted  prayer,  but  now  Gavin  .vas  only  doing 
this  girl's  bidding. 

"  Nanny  and  I  are  to  have  a  dish  of  tea,  as  soon  as  we 
have  set  things  to  rights,"  she  told  him.  "  Do  you  think 
we  should  invite  the  minister,  Nanny?" 

"We  couldna  dare,"  Nanny  answered  quickly. 
'*  You'll  excuse  her,  Mr.  Dishart,  for  the  presumption?" 

"  Presumption !"  said  the  Egyptian,  making  a  face. 

"Lassie,"  Nanny  said,  fearful  to  offend  her  new 
friend,  yet  horrified  at  this  affront  to  the  minister,  "  I 
ken  you  mean  weel,  but  Mr.  Dishart  '11  think  you're 
putting  yoursel'  on  an  equality  wi'  him."  She  added 
in  a  whisper,  "  Dinna  be  so  free;  he's  the  Auld  Licht 
minister." 

The  gypsy  bowed  with  mock  awe,  but  Gavin  let  it 
pass.  He  had,  indeed,  forgotten  that  he  was  anybody 
in  particular,  and  was  anxious  to  stay  to  tea. 

"But  there  is  no  water,"  he  remembered,  "and  is 
there  any  tea?" 

"  I  am  going  out  for  them  and  for  some  other  things," 
the  Egyptian  explained.  "But  no,"  she  continued,  re- 
flectively, "  if  I  go  for  the  tea,  you  must  go  for  the 
water. " 

"Lassie,"  cried  Nanny,  "  mind  wha  you're  speaking 
to.  To  send  a  minister  to  the  well!" 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Gavin,  recklessly  lifting  the  pitcher. 
"The  well  is  in  the  wood,  I  think?" 

"Gie  me  the  pitcher,  Mr.  Dishart,"  said  Nanny,  in 
distress.  "What  a  town  there  would  be  if  you  was 
seen  wi't!" 

"  Then  he  must  remain  here  and  keep  the  house  till 
we  come  back,"  said  the  Egyptian,  and  thereupon 
departed,  with  a  friendly  wave  of  her  hand  to  the 
minister. 

"She's  an  awfu'  lassie,"  Nanny  said,  apologetically, 
"but  it'll  just  be  the  way  she  has  been  brought  up." 

"  She  has  been  very  good  to  you,  Nanny. " 


tto  tbc  TJdoman'c  piping.  127 

**She  has;  leastwise,  she  promises  to  be.  Mr.  Dish- 
art,  she's  awa' ;  what  if  she  doesna  come  back?" 

Nanny  spoke  nervously,  and  Gavin  drew  a  long  face. 

"I  think  she  will,"  he  said  faintly.  "I  am  confident 
of  it,"  he  added  in  the  same  voice. 

"  And  has  she  the  siller?" 

"I  believe  in  her,"  said  Gavin,  so  doggedly  that  his 
own  words  reassured  him.  "  She  has  an  excellent 
heart." 

"  Ay,"  said  Nanny,  to  whom  the  minister's  faith  was 
more  than  the  Egyptian's  promise,  "and  that's  hardly 
natural  in  a  gaen-aboot  body.  Yet  a  gypsy  she  maun 
be,  for  naebody  would  pretend  to  be  ane  that  wasna. 
Tod,  she  proved  she  was  an  Egyptian  by  dauring  to 
send  you  to  the  well." 

This  conclusive  argument  brought  her  prospective 
dower  so  close  to  Nanny's  eyes  that  it  hid  the  poorhouse. 

"  I  suppose  she'll  gie  you  the  money,"  she  said,  "and 
syne  you'll  gie  me  the  seven  shillings  a  week?" 

"That  seems  the  best  plan,"  Gavin  answered. 

"  And  what  will  you  gie  it  me  in?"  Nanny  asked,  with 
something  on  her  mind.  "  I  would  be  terrible  obliged 
if  you  gae  it  to  me  in  saxpences. " 

"Do  the  smaller  coins  go  farther?"  Gavin  asked, 
curiously. 

"Na,  it's  no  that.  But  I've  heard  tell  o'  folk  giving 
away  half-crowns  by  mistake  for  twa-shilling  bits;  ay, 
and  there's  something  dizzying  in  ha'en  fower-and- 
twenty  pennies  in  one  piece;  it  has  sic  terrible  little 
bulk.  Sanders  had  aince  a  gold  sovereign,  and  he 
looked  at  it  so  often  that  it  seemed  to  grow  smaller  and 
smaller  in  his  hand  till  he  was  feared  it  micht  just  be  a 
half  affar  all." 

Her  -nind  relieved  on  this  matter,  the  old  woman  set 
off  for  the  well.  A  minute  afterwards  Gavin  went  to 
the  door  to  look  for  the  gypsy,  and,  behold,  Nanny  was 
ao  further  than  the  gate.  Have  you  who  read  ever 


188  Cbe  Xittle  Minister. 

been  sick  near  to  death,  and  then  so  far  recovered  that 
you  could  once  again  stand  at  your  window?  If  so,  you 
have  not  forgotten  how  the  beauty  of  the  world  struck 
you  afresh,  so  that  you  looked  long  and  said  many 
times,  "How  fair  a  world  it  is!"  like  one  who  had 
made  a  discovery.  It  was  such  a  look  that  Nanny  gave 
to  the  hill  and  Caddam  while  she  stood  at  her  garden 
gate. 

Gavin  returned  to  the  fire  and  watched  a  girl  in  it 
in  an  officer's  cloak  playing  at  hide  and  seek  with  sol- 
diers. After  a  time  he  sighed,  then  looked  round 
sharply  to  see  who  had  sighed,  then,  absent-mindedly, 
lifted  the  empty  kettle  and  placed  it  on  the  glowing 
peats.  He  was  standing  glaring  at  the  kettle,  his  arms 
folded,  when  Nanny  returned  from  the  well. 

"I've  been  thinking,"  she  said,  "o'  something  that 
proves  the  lassie  to  be  just  an  Egyptian.  Ay,  I  noticed 
she  wasna  nane  awed  when  I  said  you  was  the  Auld 
Licht  minister.  Weel,  I'se  uphaud  that  came  frae  her 
living  ower  muckle  in  the  open  air.  Is  there  no*  a 
smell  o'  burning  in  the  house?" 

"I  have  noticed  it,"  Gavin  answered,  sniffing,  "since 
you  came  in.  I  was  busy  until  then,  putting  on  the 
kettle.  The  smell  is  becoming  worse." 

Nanny  had  seen  the  empty  kettle  on  the  fire  as  he 
began  to  speak,  and  so  solved  the  mystery.  Her  first 
thought  was  to  snatch  the  kettle  out  of  the  blaze,  but 
remembering  who  had  put  it  there,  she  dared  not.  She 
sidled  toward  the  hearth  instead,  and  saying  craftily, 
"Ay,  here  it  is;  it's  a  clout  among  the  peats,"  softly 
laid  the  kettle  on  the  earthen  floor.  It  was  still  red 
With  sparks,  however,  when  the  gypsy  reappeared. 

"  Who  burned  the  kettle?"  she  asked,  ignoring 
Nanny's  signs. 

"  Lassie,"  Nanny  said,  "  it  was  me;"  but  Gavin,  flush- 
ing, confessed  his  guilt. 

"  Oh,  you  stupid !"    exclaimed  the  Egyptian,  shaking 


Co  tbc  'CCloman'8  piping.  129 

her  two  ounces  of  tea  (which  then  cost  six  shillings  the 
pound)  in  his  face. 

At  this  Nanny  wrung  her  hands,  crying,  "  That's 
waur  than  swearing." 

"If  men,"  said  the  gypsy,  severely,  "would  keep 
their  hands  in  their  pockets  all  day,  the  world's  affairs 
would  be  more  easily  managed." 

"Wheesht!"  cried  Nanny,  "if  Mr.  Dishart  cared  to 
set  his  mind  to  it,  he  could  make  the  kettle  boil  quicker 
than  you  or  me.  But  his  thochts  is  on  higher  things." 

"No  higher  than  this,"  retorted  the  gypsy,  holding 
her  hand  level  with  her  brow.  "  Confess,  Mr.  Dishart, 
that  this  is  the  exact  height  of  what  you  were  thinking 
about.  See,  Nanny,  he  is  blushing  as  if  I  meant  that 
he  had  been  thinking  about  me.  He  cannot  answer, 
Nanny :  we  have  found  him  out. " 

"And  kindly  of  him  it  is  no  to  answer,"  said  Nanny, 
who  had  been  examining  the  gypsy's  various  purchases; 
"for  what  could  he  answer,  except  that  he  would  need 
to  be  sure  o*  living  a  thousand  years  afore  he  could 
spare  five  minutes  on  you  or  me?  Of  course  it  would 
be  different  if  we  sat  under  him." 

"And  yet,"  said  the  Egyptian,  with  great  solemnity, 
"  he  is  to  drink  tea  at  that  very  table,  I  hope  you  are 
sensible  of  the  honour,  Nanny. " 

"Am  I  no?"  said  Nanny,  whose  education  had  not 
included  sarcasm.  "I'm  trying  to  keep  frae  thinking 
o't  till  he's  gone,  in  case  I  should  let  the  teapot  fall." 

"You  have  nothing  to  thank  me  for,  Nanny,"  said 
Gavin,  "but  much  for  which  to  thank  this — this " 

"This  haggarty-taggarty  Egyptian,"  suggested  the 
girl.  Then,  looking  at  Gavin  curiously,  she  said,  "  But 
my  name  is  Babbie." 

"  That's  short  for  Barbara,"  said  Nanny;  "  but  Babbie 
what?" 

"Yes,    Babbie  Watt,"  replied  the  gypsy,  as  if  one 
name  were  as  good  as  another. 
9 


ro  Sbe  Xittle  /Bfntster. 

"  Weel,  then,  lift  the  lid  off  the  kettle,  Babbie,"  said 
Nanny,  "for  it's  boiling  ower." 

Gavin  looked  at  Nanny  with  admiration  and  envy, 
for  she  had  said  Babbie  as  coolly  as  if  it  was  the  name 
of  a  pepper-box. 

Babbie  tucked  up  her  sleeves  to  wash  Nanny's  cups 
and  saucers,  which  even  in  the  most  prosperous  days  of 
the  mud  house  had  only  been  in  use  once  a  week,  and 
Gavin  was  so  eager  to  help  that  he  bumped  his  head  on 
the  plate-rack. 

"Sit  there,"  said  Babbie,  authoritatively,  pointing, 
with  a  cup  in  her  hand,  to  a  stool,  "  and  don't  rise  till  I 
give  you  permission. " 

To  Nanny's  amazement,  he  did  as  he  was  bid. 

"  I  got  the  things  in  the  little  shop  you  told  me  of," 
the  Egyptian  continued,  addressing  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  "  but  the  horrid  man  would  not  give  them  to  me 
until  he  had  seen  my  money." 

"Enoch  would  be  suspicious  o'  you,"  Nanny  ex» 
plained,  "you  being  an  Egyptian." 

"Ah,"  said  Babbie,  with  a  side-glance  at  the  minis- 
ter, "  I  am  only  an  Egyptian.  Is  that  why  you  dislike 
me,  Mr.  Dishart?" 

Gavin  hesitated  foolishly  over  his  answer,  and  the 
Egyptian,  with  a  towel  round  her  waist,  made  a  pretty 
gesture  of  despair. 

"He  neither  likes  you  nor  dislikes  you,"  Nanny  ex- 
plained; "you  forget  he's  a  minister." 

"That  is  what  I  cannot  endure,"  said  Babbie,  putting 
the  towel  to  her  eyes,  "  to  be  neither  liked  nor  disliked. 
Please  hate  me,  Mr.  Dishart,  if  you  cannot  lo — ove 
me." 

Her  face  was  behind  the  towel,  and  Gavin  could  not 
decide  whether  it  was  the  face  or  the  towel  that  shook 
with  agitation.  He  gave  Nanny  a  look  that  asked, 
"  Is  she  really  crying?"  and  Nanny  telegraphed  back, 
u  I  question  it. " 


tTo  tbe  TKHoman's  fcfpfng.  131 

"Come,  come,"  said  the  minister,  gallantly,  "I  did 
not  say  that  I  disliked  you." 

Even  this  desperate  compliment  had  not  the  desired 
effect,  for  the  gypsy  continued  to  sob  behind  her  screen. 

"  I  can  honestly  say,"  went  on  Gavin,  as  solemnly  as 
if  he  were  making  a  statement  in  a  court  of  justice, 
"that  I  like  you." 

Then  the  Egyptian  let  drop  her  towel,  and  replied 
with  equal  solemnity: 

"  Oh,  tank  oo !  Nanny,  the  minister  says  me  is  a  dood 
'ittle  dirl." 

"He  didna  gang  that  length,"  said  Nanny,  sharply, 
to  cover  Gavin's  confusion.  "Set  the  things,  Babbie, 
and  I'll  make  the  tea." 

The  Egyptian  obeyed  demurely,  pretending  to  wipe 
her  eyes  every  time  Gavin  looked  at  her.  He  frowned 
at  this,  and  then  she  affected  to  be  too  overcome  to  go 
on  with  her  work. 

"Tell  me,  Nanny,"  she  asked  presently,  "what  sort 
of  man  this  Enoch  is,  from  whom  I  bought  the  things?" 

"He  is  not  very  regular,  I  fear,"  answered  Gavin, 
who  felt  that  he  had  sat  silent  and  self-conscious  on  his 
stool  too  long. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  drinks?"  asked  Babbie. 

"No,  I  mean  regular  in  his  attendance." 

The  Egyptian's  face  showed  no  enlightenment. 

"  His  attendance  at  church,"  Gavin  explained. 

"  He's  far  frae  it,"  said  Nanny,  "  and  as  a  body  kens, 
Joe  Cruickshanks,  the  atheist,  has  the  wite  o'  that. 
The  scoundrel  telled  Enoch  that  the  great  ministers  in 
Edinbury  and  London  believed  in  no  hell  except  sic  as 
your  ain  conscience  made  for  you,  and  ever  since  syne 
Enoch  has  been  careless  about  the  future  state." 

"Ah,"  said  Babbie,  waving  the  Church  aside,  "what 
I  want  to  know  is  whether  he  is  a  single  man." 

"  He  is  not,"  Gavin  replied-  "  but  why  do  you  want 
to  know  that?" 


132  ttbe  Xittle  Afnteter. 

"  Because  single  men  are  such  gossips.  I  am  sorry 
he  is  not  single,  as  I  want  him  to  repeat  to  everybody 
what  I  told  him." 

"Trust  him  to  tell  Susy,"  said  Nanny,  "and  Susy  to 
tell  the  town." 

"  His  wife  is  a  gossip?" 

"  Ay,  she's  aye  tonguing,  especially  about  her  teeth 
They're  folk  wi'  siller,  and  she  has  a  set  o'  false  teeth. 
It's  fair  scumfishing  to  hear  her  blawing  about  thae 
teeth,     she's    so    fleid     we    dinna    ken    that    they're 
false." 

Nanny  had  spoken  jealously,  but  suddenly  she  trem- 
bled with  apprehension. 

"Babbie,"  she  cried,  "you  didna  speak  about  the 
poorhouse  to  Enoch?" 

The  Egyptian  shook  her  head,  though  of  the  poor- 
house  she  had  been  forced  to  speak,  for  Enoch,  having 
seen  the  doctor  going  home  alone,  insisted  on  knowing 
why. 

"But  I  knew,"  the  gypsy  said,  "that  the  Thrums 
people  would  be  very  unhappy  until  they  discovered 
where  you  get  the  money  I  am  to  give  you,  and  as  that 
is  a  secret,  I  hinted  to  Enoch  that  your  benefactor  is 
Mr.  Dishart." 

"You  should  not  have  said  that,"  interposed  Gavin. 
"  I  cannot  foster  such  a  deception." 

"They  will  foster  it  without  your  help,"  the  Egyp- 
tian said.  "  Besides,  if  you  choose,  you  can  say  you 
get  the  money  from  a  friend." 

"Ay,  you  can  say  that,"  Nanny  entreated  with  such 
eagerness  that  Babbie  remarked  a  little  bitterly: 

"  There  is  no  fear  of  Nanny's  telling  any  one  that  the 
friend  is  a  gypsy  girl. " 

"Na,  na,"  agreed  Nanny,  again  losing  Babbie's  sar- 
casm. "  I  winna  let  on.  It's  so  queer  to  be  befriended 
by  an  Egyptian." 

"  It  is  scarcely  respectable,"  Babbie  said. 


Go  tbe  TUonan's  piping.  133 

"  It's  no,"  answered  simple  Nanny. 

I  suppose  Nanny's  unintentional  cruelty  did  hurt 
Babbie  as  much  as  Gavin  thought.  She  winced,  and 
her  face  had  two  expressions,  the  one  cynical,  the  other 
pained.  Her  mouth  curled  as  if  to  tell  the  minister 
that  gratitude  was  nothing  to  her,  but  her  eyes  had  to 
struggle  to  keep  back  a  tear.  Gavin  was  touched,  and 
she  saw  it,  and  for  a  moment  they  were  two  people  who 
understood  each  other. 

"I,  at  least,"  Gavin  said  in  a  low  voice,  "will  know 
who  is  the  benefactress,  and  think  none  the  worse  of 
her  because  she  is  a  gypsy." 

At  this  Babbie  smiled  gratefully  to  him,  and  then 
both  laughed,  for  they  had  heard  Nanny  remarking  to 
the  kettle,  "  But  I  wouldna  hae  been  nane  angry  if  she 
had  telled  Enoch  that  the  minister  was  to  take  his  tea 
here.  Susy'll  no  believe't  though  I  tell  her,  as  tell  her 
I  will." 

To  Nanny  the  table  now  presented  a  rich  appearance, 
for  besides  the  teapot  there  were  butter  and  loaf-bread 
and  cheesies:  a  biscuit  of  which  only  Thrums  knows 
the  secret. 

"  Draw  in  your  chair,  Mr.  Dishart,"  she  said,  in  sup- 
pressed excitement. 

"Yes,"  said  Babbie,  "you  take  this  chair,  Mr.  Dish- 
art,  and  Nanny  will  have  that  one,  and  I  can  sit 
humbly  on  the  stool. " 

But  Nanny  held  up  her  hands  in  horror. 

"Keep  us  a'!"  she  exclaimed;  "the  lassie  thinks  her 
and  me  is  to  sit  down  wi'  the  minister!  We're  no  to 
gang  that  length,  Babbie;  we're  just  to  stand  and 
serve  him,  and  syne  we'll  sit  down  when  he  has 
risen." 

"Delightful!"  said  Babbie,  clapping  her  hands. 
"  Nanny,  you  kneel  on  that  side  of  him,  and  I  will 
kneel  on  this.  You  will  hold  the  butter  and  I  the 
biscuits." 


184  Ebe  little 

But  Gavin,  as  this  girl  was  always  forgetting,  was  a 
lord  of  creation. 

"Sit  down  both  of  you  at  once!"  he  thundered,  "I 
command  you." 

Then  the  two  women  fell  into  their  seats;  Nanny  in 
terror,  Babbie  affecting  it. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE     MINISTER     BEWITCHED— SECOND     SERMON     AGAINST 
WOMEN. 

To  Nanny  it  was  a  dizzying  experience  to  sit  at  the 
head  of  her  own  table,  and,  with  assumed  calmness,  in- 
vite the  minister  not  to  spare  the  loaf-bread.  Babbie's 
prattle,  and  even  Gavin's  answers,  were  but  an  in- 
distinct noise  to  her,  to  be  as  little  regarded,  in  the 
excitement  of  watching  whether  Mr.  Dishart  noticed 
that  there  was  a  knife  for  the  butter^  as  the  music  of  the 
river  by  a  man  who  is  catching  trout.  Every  time 
Gavin's  cup  went  to  his  lips  Nanny  calculated  (cor- 
rectly) how  much  he  had  drunk,  and  yet,  when  the 
right  moment  arrived,  she  asked  in  the  English  voice 
that  is  fashionable  at  ceremonies,  "  if  his  cup  was  toom." 

Perhaps  it  was  well  that  Nanny  had  these  matters  to 
engross  her,  for  though  Gavin  spoke  freely,  he  was  say- 
ing nothing  of  lasting  value,  and  some  of  his  remarks 
to  the  Egyptian,  if  preserved  for  the  calmer  contempla- 
tion of  the  morrow,  might  have  seemed  frivolous  to 
himself.  Usually  his  observations  were  scrambled  for, 
like  ha'pence  at  a  wedding,  but  to-day  they  were  only 
for  one  person.  Infected  by  the  Egyptian's  high  spirits, 
Gavin  had  laid  aside  the  minister  with  his  hat,  and  what 
was  left  was  only  a  young  man.  He  who  had  stamped 
his  feet  at  thought  of  a  soldier's  cloak  now  wanted  to 
be  reminded  of  it.  The  little  minister,  who  used  to 
address  himself  in  terms  of  scorn  every  time  he  wasted 
an  hour,  was  at  present  dallying  with  a  teaspoon.  He 
even  laughed  boisterously,  flinging  back  his  head,  and 


136  Cbc  Xittle  Minister. 

little  knew  that  behind  Nanny's  smiling  face  was  a 
terrible  dread,  because  his  chair  had  once  given  way 
before. 

Even  though  our  thoughts  are  not  with  our  company, 
the  mention  of  our  name  is  a  bell  to  which  we  usually 
answer.  Hearing  hers  Nanny  started. 

"You  can  tell  me,  Nanny,"  the  Egyptian  had  said, 
with  an  arch  look  at  the  minister.  "Oh,  Nanny,  for 
shame!  How  can  you  expect  to  follow  our  conversa- 
tion when  you  only  listen  to  Mr.  Dishart?" 

"  She  is  saying,  Nanny,"  Gavin  broke  in,  almost  gaily 
for  a  minister,  "  that  she  saw  me  recently  wearing  a 
cloak.  You  know  I  have  no  such  thing. " 

"  Na, "  Nanny  answered  artlessly,  "  you  have  just  the 
thin  brown  coat  wi'  the  braid  round  it,  forby  the  ane 
you  have  on  the  now. " 

"You  see,"  Gavin  said  to  Babbie,  "I  could  not  have 
a  new  neckcloth,  not  to  speak  of  a  cloak,  without  every- 
body in  Thrums  knowing  about  it.  I  dare  say  Nanny 
knows  all  about  the  braid,  and  even  what  it  cost." 

"Three  bawbees  the  yard  at  Kyowowy's  shop,"  re- 
plied Nanny,  promptly,  "  and  your  mother  sewed  it  on. 
Sam'l  Fairweather  has  the  marrows  o't  on  his  top  coat. 
No  that  it  has  the  same  look  on  him." 

"Nevertheless,"  Babbie  persisted,  "I  am  sure  the 
minister  has  a  cloak ;  but  perhaps  he  is  ashamed  of  it. 
No  doubt  it  is  hidden  away  in  the  garret." 

"Na,  we  would  hae  kent  o't  if  it  was  there,"  said 
Nanny. 

"  But  it  may  be  in  a  chest,  and  the  chest  may  be 
locked,"  the  Egyptian  suggested. 

"  Ay,  but  the  kist  in  the  garret  isna  locked, "  Nanny 
answered. 

"  How  do  you  get  to  know  all  these  things,  Nanny?" 
asked  Gavin,  sighing. 

"Your  congregation  tells  me.  Naebody  would  lay 
by  news  about  a  minister." 


Second  Sermon  Bflatnst  TWlomen.  13? 

"  But  how  do  they  know?" 

"  I  dinna  ken.  They  just  find  out,  because  they're  so 
fond  o'  you." 

"  I  hope  they  will  never  become  so  fond  of  me  as 
that,"  said  Babbie.  "  Still,  Nanny,  the  minister's  cloak 
is  hidden  somewhere." 

"  Losh,  what  would  make  him  hod  it?"  demanded  the 
old  woman.  "  Folk  that  has  cloaks  doesna  bury  them 
in  boxes." 

At  the  word  "bury"  Gavin's  hand  fell  on  the  table, 
and  he  returned  to  Nanny  apprehensively. 

*  That  would  depend  on  how  the  cloak  was  got,"  said 
the  cruel  Egyptian.  "  If  it  was  not  his  own— 

"Lassie,"  cried  Nanny,  "behave  yoursel'." 

"  Or  if  he  found  it  in  his  possession  against  his  will?" 
suggested  Gavin,  slyly.  "  He  might  have  got  it  from 
some  one  who  picked  it  up  cheap. " 

"From  his  wife,  for  instance,"  said  Babbie,  where- 
upon Gavin  suddenly  became  interested  in  the  floor. 

"  Ay,  ay,  the  minister  was  hitting  at  you  there,  Bab- 
bie," Nanny  explained,  "for  the  w?.y  you  made  off  wi' 
the  captain's  cloak.  The  Thrums  folk  wondered  less 
at  your  taking  it  than  at  your  no  keeping  it.  It's  said 
to  be  michty  grand." 

"  It  was  rather  like  the  one  the  minister's  wife  gave 
him,"  said  Babbie. 

"The  minister  has  neither  a  wife  nor  a  cloak,"  re- 
torted Nanny. 

"He  isn't  married?"  asked  Babbie,  the  picture  of 
incredulity. 

Nanny  gathered  from  the  minister's  face  that  he  de- 
puted to  her  the  task  of  enlightening  this  ignorant  girl, 
so  she  replied  with  emphasis,  "  Na,  they  hinna  got  him 
yet,  and  I'm  cheated  if  it  doesna  tak  them  all  their  time. " 

Thus  do  the  best  of  women  sell  their  sex  for  nothing. 

"I  did  wonder,"  said  the  Egyptian,  gravely,  "at  any 
mere  woman's  daring  to  marry  such  a  minister." 


138  Cbe  little  tfbinfster. 

"Ay, "replied  Nanny,  spiritedly,  "but  there's  daw- 
ing  limmers  wherever  there's  a  single  man." 

"Sc  I  have  often  suspected,"  said  Babbie,  duly 
shocked.  "  But,  Nanny,  I  was  told  the  minister  had  a 
wife,  by  one  who  said  he  saw  her." 

"He  lied,  then,"  answered  Nanny  turning  to  Gavin 
for  further  instructions. 

"But,  see,  the  minister  does  not  deny  the  horrid 
charge  himself." 

"  No,  and  for  the  reason  he  didna  deny  the  cloak :  be- 
cause it's  no  worth  his  while.  I'll  tell  you  wha  your 
friend  had  seen.  It  would  be  somebody  that  would  like 
to  be  Mrs.  Dishart.  There's  a  hantle  o'  that  kind.  Ay, 
lassie,  but  wishing  winna  land  a  woman  in  a  manse." 

"  It  was  one  of  the  soldiers, "  Babbie  said,  "  who  told  me 
about  her.  He  said  Mr.  Dishart  introduced  her  to  him. " 

"Sojers!"  cried  Nanny.  "I  could  never  thole  the 
name  o'  them.  Sanders  in  his  young  days  hankered 
after  joining  them,  and  so  he  would,  if  it  hadna  been 
for  the  f editing.  Ay,  and  now  they've  ta'en  him  awa 
to  the  gaol,  and  sworn  lies  about  him.  Dinna  put  any 
faith  in  sojers,  lassie." 

"I  was  told,"  Babbie  went  on,  "that  the  minister's 
wife  was  rather  like  me." 

"Heaven  forbid!"  ejaculated  Nanny,  so  fervently 
that  all  three  suddenly  sat  back  from  the  table. 

"I'm  no  meaning,"  Nanny  continued  hurriedly,  fear- 
ing to  offend  her  benefactress,  "but  what  you're  the 
bonniest  tid  I  ever  saw  out  o'  an  almanack.  But  you 
would  ken  Mr.  Dishart's  contempt  for  bonny  faces  if 
you  had  heard  his  sermon  against  them.  I  didna  hear 
it  mysel',  for  I'm  no  Auld  Licht,  but  it  did  the  work  o' 
the  town  for  an  aucht  days." 

If  Nanny  had  not  taken  her  eyes  off  Gavin  for  the 
moment  she  would  have  known  that  he  was  now  anxious 
to  change  the  topic.  Babbie  saw  it,  and  became 
suspicious. 


Second  Sermon  against  Women.  139 

"When  did  he  preach  against  the  wiles  of  women, 
Nanny?" 

"It  was  long  ago,"  said  Gavin,  hastily. 

"No  so  very  lang  syne,"  corrected  Nanny.  "It  was 
the  Sabbath  after  the  sojers  was  in  Thrums;  the  day 
you  changed  your  text  so  hurriedly.  Some  thocht  you 
wasna  weel,  but  Lang  Tammas " 

"Thomas  Whamond  is  too  officious,"  Gavin  said  with 
dignity.  "  I  forbid  you,  Nanny,  to  repeat  his  story." 

"  But  what  made  you  change  your  text?"  asked 
Babbie. 

"You  see  he  winna  tell,"  Nanny  said,  wistfully. 
"  Ay,  I  dinna  deny  but  what  I  would  like  richt  to  ken. 
But  the  session's  as  puzzled  as  yoursel',  Babbie." 

"Perhaps  more  puzzled,"  answered  the  Egyptian, 
with  a  smile  that  challenged  Gavin's  frowns  to  combat 
and  overthrow  them.  "  What  surprises  me,  Mr.  Dishart, 
is  that  such  a  great  man  can  stoop  to  see  whether  women 
are  pretty  or  not.  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  remember 
me  to-day.  I  suppose  you  recognized  me  by  my  frock?" 

"By  your  face,"  he  replied,  boldly;  "by  your  eyes." 

"Nanny,"  exclaimed  the  Egyptian,  "did  you  hear 
what  the  minister  said?" 

"Woe  is  me,"  answered  Nanny,  "  I  missed  it." 

"  He  says  he  would  know  me  anywhere  by  my  eyes." 

"So  would  I  mysel',"  said  Nanny. 

"  Then  what  colour  are  they,  Mr.  Dishart?"  demanded 
Babbie.  "  Don't  speak,  Nanny,  for  I  want  to  expose 
him." 

She  closed  her  eyes  tightly.  Gavin  was  in  a  quan- 
dary. I  suppose  he  had  looked  at  her  eyes  too  long  to 
know  much  about  them. 

"Blue,"  he  guessed  at  last. 

"Na,  they're  black,"  said  Nanny,  who  had  doubt- 
less known  this  for  an  hour.  I  am  always  marvelling 
over  the  cleverness  of  women,  as  every  one  must  see 
who  reads  this  story. 


140  Cbe  Xittie  dfctnister. 

"No  but  what  they  micht  be  blue  in  some  lichts," 
Nanny  added,  out  of  respect  to  the  minister. 

"Oh,  don't  defend  him,  Nanny,"  said  Babbie,  looking 
reproachfully  at  Gavin.  "  I  don't  see  that  any  minister 
has  a  right  to  denounce  women  when  he  is  so  ignorant 
of  his  subject.  I  will  say  it,  Nanny,  and  you  need  not 
kick  me  beneath  the  table." 

Was  not  all  this  intoxicating  to  the  little  minister, 
who  had  never  till  now  met  a  girl  on  equal  terms?  At 
twenty-one  a  man  is  a  musical  instrument  given  to  the 
other  sex,  but  it  is  not  as  instruments  learned  at  school, 
for  when  She  sits  down  to  it  she  cannot  tell  what  tune 
she  is  about  to  play.  That  is  because  she  has  no  notion 
of  what  the  instrument  is  capable.  Babbie's  kind- 
heartedness,  her  gaiety,  her  coquetry,  her  moments  of 
sadness,  had  been  a  witch's  fingers,  and  Gavin  was  still 
trembling  under  their  touch.  Even  in  being  taken  to 
task  by  her  there  was  a  charm,  for  every  pout  of  her 
mouth,  every  shake  of  her  head,  said,  "  You  like  me, 
and  therefore  you  have  given  me  the  right  to  tease 
you."  Men  sign  these  agreements  without  reading 
them.  But,  indeed,  man  is  a  stupid  animal  at  the  best, 
and  thinks  all  his  life  that  he  did  not  propose  until  he 
blurted  out,  "  I  love  you. " 

It  was  later  than  it  should  have  been  when  the 
minister  left  the  mud  house,  and  even  then  he  only  put 
on  his  hat  because  Babbie  said  that  she  must  go. 

"  But  not  your  way, "  she  added.  "  I  go  into  the  wood 
and  vanish.  You  know,  Nanny,  I  live  up  a  tree. " 

"Dinna  say  that,"  said  Nanny,  anxiously,  "or  I'll  be 
fleid  about  the  siller.  " 

"  Don't  fear  about  it.  Mr.  Dishart  will  get  some  of 
it  to-morrow  at  the  Kaims.  I  would  bring  it  here,  but 
I  cannot  come  so  far  to-morrow." 

"  Then  I'll  hae  peace  to  the  end  o'  my  days,"  said  the 
old  woman,  "  and,  Babbie,  I  wish  the  same  to  you  wi' 
all  ray  heart." 


Secon&  Sermon  SiKuiut  TXflomen.  141 


"Ah,"  Babbie  replied,  mournfully,  "I  have  read  my 
fortune,  Nanny,  and  there  is  not  much  happiness  in  it." 

"  I  hope  that  is  not  true,"  Gavin  said,  simply. 

They  were  standing  at  the  door,  and  she  was  looking 
toward  the  hill,  perhaps  without  seeing  it.  All  at  once 
it  came  to  Gavin  that  this  fragile  girl  might  have  a 
history  far  sadder  and  more  turbulent  than  his. 

"  Do  you  really  care?"  she  asked,  without  looking  at 
him. 

"  Yes,"  "he  said  stoutly,  "  I  care." 

"  Because  you  do  not  know  me,  "  she  said. 

"  Because  I  do  know  you,"  he  answered. 

Now  she  did  look  at  him. 

"  I  believe,"  she  said,  making  a  discovery,  "  that  you 
misunderstand  me  less  than  those  who  have  known  me 
longer.  " 

This  was  a  perilous  confidence,  for  it  at  once  made 
Gavin  say  "  Babbie.  " 

"  Ah,"  she  answered,  frankly,  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  that. 
I  thought  you  did  not  really  like  me,  because  you  never 
called  me  by  my  name.  " 

Gavin  drew  a  great  breath. 

"That  was  not  the  reason,"  he  said. 

The  reason  was  now  unmistakable. 

"I  was  wrong,"  said  the  Egyptian,  a  little  alarmed; 
"  you  do  not  understand  me  at  all.  " 

She  returned  to  Nanny,  and  Gavin  set  off,  holding 
his  head  high,  his  brain  in  a  whirl.  Five  minutes  after- 
wards, when  Nanny  was  at  the  fire,  the  diamond  ring 
on  her  little  finger,  he  came  back,  looking  like  one  who 
had  just  seen  sudden  death. 

"I  had  forgotten,"  he  said,  with  a  fierceness  aimed  at 
himself,  "that  to-morrow  is  the  Sabbath." 

"Need  that  make  any  difference?"  asked  the  gypsy. 

"At  this  hour  on  Monday,"  said  Gavin,  hoarsely, 
"  I  will  be  at  the  Kaims." 

He  went  away  without   another  word,  and    Babbie 


142  XTbe  2,(ttlc  /UMnfster. 

watched  him  from  the  window.     Nanny  had  not  looked 
up  from  the  ring. 

"What  a  pity  he  is  a  minister!"  the  girl  said,  reflec- 
tively. "  Nanny,  you  are  not  listening. " 

The  old  woman  was  making  the  ring  flash  by  the 
light  of  the  fire. 

"  Nanny,  do  you  hear  me?  Did  you  see  Mr.  Dishart 
come  back?" 

"I  heard  the  door  open,"  Nanny  answered,  without 
taking  her  greedy  eyes  off  the  ring.  "Was  it  him? 
Whaur  did  you  get  this,  lassie?" 

"Give  it  me  back,  Nanny,  I  am  going  now." 

But  Nanny  did  not  give  it  back ;  she  put  her  other 
hand  over  it  to  guard  it,  and  there  she  crouched,  warm- 
ing herself  not  at  the  fire,  but  at  the  ring. 

"  Give  it  me,  Nanny. " 

"  It  winna  come  off  my  finger. "  She  gloated  over  it, 
nursed  it,  kissed  it. 

"  I  must  have  it,  Nanny. " 

The  Egyptian  put  her  hand  lightly  on  the  old  woman's 
shoulder,  and  Nanny  jumped  up,  pressing  the  ring  to 
her  bosom.  Her  face  had  become  cunning  and  ugly ; 
she  retreated  into  a  corner. 

"  Nanny,  give  me  back  my  ring  or  I  will  take  it  from 
you." 

The  cruel  light  of  the  diamond  was  in  Nanny's  eyes 
for  a  moment,  and  then,  shuddering,  she  said,  "  Tak 
your  ring  awa,  tak  it  out  o'  my  sicht." 

In  the  meantime  Gavin  was  trudging  home  gloomily 
composing  his  second  sermon  against  women.  I  have 
already  given  the  entry  in  my  own  diary  for  that  day: 
this  is  his: —  "  Notes  on  Jonah.  Exchanged  vol.  xliii., 
'European  Magazine,'  for  Owen's  'Justification'  (per 
flying  stationer).  Began  Second  Samuel.  Visited 
Nanny  Webster. "  There  is  no  mention  of  the  Egyptian. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

CONTINUED  MISBEHAVIOUR  OF  THE  EGYPTIAN  WOMAN. 

BY  the  following  Monday  it  was  known  at  many 
looms  that  something  sat  heavily  on  the  Auld  Licht 
minister's  mind.  On  the  previous  day  he  had  preached 
his  second  sermon  of  warning  to  susceptible  young  men, 
and  his  first  mention  of  the  word  "  woman"  had  blown 
^ven  the  sleepy  heads  upright.  Now  he  had  salt  fish 
for  breakfast,  and  on  clearing  the  table  Jean  noticed 
that  his  knife  and  fork  were  uncrossed.  He  was  observed 
walking  into  a  gooseberry  bush  by  Susy  Linn,  who 
possessed  the  pioneer  spring-bed  of  Thrums,  and  always 
knew  when  her  man  jumped  into  it  by  suddenly  finding 
herself  shot  to  the  ceiling.  Lunan,  the  tinsmith,  and 
two  women,  who  had  the  luck  to  be  in  the  street  at  the 
time,  saw  him  stopping  at  Dr.  McQueen's  door,  as  if 
about  to  knock,  and  then  turning  smartly  away.  His 
hat  blew  off  in  the  school  wynd,  where  a  wind  wanders 
ever,  looking  for  hats,  and  he  chased  it  so  passionately 
that  Lang  Tammas  went  into  Allardyce's  smiddy  to 
say — 

"  I  dinna  like  it.  Of  course  he  couldna  afford  to  lose 
his  hat,  but  he  should  hae  run  after  it  mair  reverently. " 

Gavin,  indeed,  was  troubled.  He  had  avoided  speak- 
ing of  the  Egyptian  to  his  mother.  He  had  gone  to 
McQueen's  house  to  ask  the  doctor  to  accompany  him 
to  the  Kaims,  but  with  the  knocker  in  his  hand  he 
changed  his  mind,  and  now  he  was  at  the  place  of  meet- 
ing alone.  It  was  a  day  of  thaw,  nothing  to  be  heard 
from  a  distance  but  the  swish  of  curling-stones  through 


144  Obe  little  Minister. 

water  on  Rashie-bog,  where  the  match  for  the  eldership 
was  going  on.  Around  him,  Gavin  saw  only  dejected 
firs  with  drops  of  water  falling  listlessly  from  them, 
clods  of  snow,  and  grass  that  rustled  as  if  animals  were 
crawling  through  it.  All  the  roads  were  slack. 

I  suppose  no  young  man  to  whom  society  has  not 
become  a  cheap  thing  can  be  in  Gavin's  position,  await- 
ing the  coming  of  an  attractive  girl,  without  giving 
thought  to  what  he  should  say  to  her.  When  in  the 
pulpit  or  visiting  the  sick,  words  came  in  a  rush  to  the 
little  minister,  but  he  had  to  set  his  teeth  to  determine 
what  to  say  to  the  Egyptian. 

This  was  because  he  had  not  yet  decided  which  of 
two  women  she  was.  Hardly  had  he  started  on  one  line 
of  thought  when  she  crossed  his  vision  in  a  new  light, 
and  drew  him  after  her. 

Her"  Need  that  make  any  difference?"  sang  in  his  ear 
like  another  divit,  cast  this  time  at  religion  itself,  and 
now  he  spoke  aloud,  pointing  his  finger  at  a  fir:  "I  said 
at  the  mud  house  that  I  believed  you  because  I  knew 
you.  To  my  shame  be  it  said  that  I  spoke  falsely.  How 
dared  you  bewitch  me?  In  your  presence  I  flung  away 
the  precious  hours  in  frivolity;  I  even  forgot  the  Sab- 
bath. For  this  I  have  myself  to  blame.  I  am  an  un- 
worthv  oreacher  of  the  Word.  I  sinned  far  more  than 
you  who  have  been  brought  up  godlessly  from  your 
cradle.  Nevertheless,  whoever  you  are,  I  call  upon 
you,  before  we  part  never  to  meet  again,  to  repent  of 
your " 

And  then  it  was  no  mocker  of  the  Sabbath  he  was 
addressing,  but  a  woman  with  a  child's  face,  and  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes.  u  Do  you  care?"  she  was  say- 
ing, and  again  he  answered,  "Yes,  I  care."  This  girl's 
name  was  not  Woman,  but  Babbie. 

Now  Gavin  made  an  heroic  attempt  to  look  upon  both 
these  women  at  once.  "  Yes,  I  believe  in  you,"  he  said 
to  them,  "  but  henceforth  you  must  send  your  money  to 


Continues  flMsbebavfour.  146 

Nanny  by  another  messenger.  You  are  a  gypsy  and  I 
am  a  minister;  and  that  must  part  us.  I  refuse  to  see 
you  again.  I  am  not  angry  with  you,  but  as  a  minis- 
ter  " 

It  was  not  the  disappearance  of  one  of  the  women 
that  clipped  this  argument  short;  it  was  Babbie  sing- 
ing— 

"It  fell  on  a  day,  on  a  bonny  summer  day, 
When  the  corn  grew  green  and  yellow, 
That  there  fell  out  a  great  dispute 
Between  Argyle  and  Airly. 

"The  Duke  of  Montrose  has  written  to  Argyle 

To  come  in  the  morning  early, 
An'  lead  in  his  men  by  the  back  o'  Dunkeld 
To  plunder  the  bonny  house  o'  Airly." 

"Where  are  you?"  cried  Gavin  in  bewilderment. 

"I  am  watching  you  from  my  window  so  high," 
answered  the  Egyptian ;  and  then  the  minister,  looking 
up,  saw  her  peering  at  him  from  a  fir. 

"  How  did  you  get  up  there?"  he  asked  in  amazement. 

"On  my  broomstick,"  Babbie  replied,  and  sang  on — 

"The  lady  looked  o'er  her  window  sae  high, 

And  oh !  but  she  looked  weary, 
And  there  she  espied  the  great  Argyle 

Come  to  plunder  the  bonny  house  o'  Airly. " 

"What  are  you  doing  there?"  Gavin  said,  wrathfully. 

"This  is  my  home,"  she  answered.  "I  told  you  I 
lived  in  a  tree." 

"Comedown  at  once,"  ordered  Gavin.  To  which  the 
singer  responded— 

"'Come  down,  come  down,  Lady  Margaret, '  he  says; 

'Come  down  and  kiss  me  fairly 
Or  before  the  morning  clear  day  light 

I'll  no  leave  a  standing  stane  in  Airly.'  " 

"  If  you  do  not  come  down  this  instant,"  Gavin  said 
in  a  rage,  "  and  give  me  what  I  was  so  foolish  as  to 
come  for,  I— 
10 


146  Sbe  little  Minister. 

The  Egyptian  broke  in — 

"4I  wouldna  kiss  thee,  great  Argyle, 

I  wouldna  kiss  thee  fairly ; 
I  wouldna  kiss  thee,  great  Argyle, 
Gin  you  shouldna  leave  a  standing  stane  in  Airly.  '* 

"You  have  deceived  Nanny,"  Gavin  cried,  hotly, 
"  and  you  have  brought  me  here  to  deride  me.  I  will 
have  no  more  to  do  with  you." 

He  walked  away  quickly,  but  she  called  after  him, 
"I  am  coming  down.  I  have  the  money,"  and  next 
moment  a  snowball  hit  his  hat. 

"That  is  for  being  cross,"  she  explained,  appearing 
so  unexpectedly  at  his  elbow  that  he  was  taken  aback. 
"  I  had  to  come  close  up  to  you  before  I  flung  it,  or  it 
would  have  fallen  over  my  shoulder.  Why  are  you  so 
nasty  to-day?  and,  oh,  do  you  know  you  were  speaking 
to  yourself?" 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  Gavin,  severely.  "I  was 
speaking  to  you. " 

"You  didn't  see  me  till  I  began  to  sing,  did  you?" 

"  Nevertheless  I  was  speaking  to  you,  or  rather,  I  was 
saying  to  myself  what " 

"What  you  had  decided  to  say  to  me?"  said  the  de- 
lighted gypsy.  "  Do  you  prepare  your  talk  like 
sermons?  I  hope  you  have  prepared  something  nice  for 
me.  If  it  is  very  nice  I  may  give  you  this  bunch  of  holly." 

She  was  dressed  as  he  had  seen  her  previously,  but 
for  a  cluster  of  holly  berries  at  her  breast. 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  will  think  it  nice,"  the  minis- 
ter answered,  slowly,  "  but  my  duty " 

"  If  it  is  about  duty,"  entreated  Babbie,  "  don't  say  it. 
Don't,  and  I  will  give  you  the  berries." 

She  took  the  berries  from  her  dress,  smiling  trium- 
phantly the  while  like  one  who  had  discovered  a  cure  for 
duty;  and  instead  of  pointing  the  ringer  of  wrath  at 
her,  Gavin  stood  expectant. 


Continued)  jfldisbebavtour.  147 

"But  no,"  he  said,  remembering  who  he  was,  and 
pushing  the  gift  from  him,  "  I  will  not  be  bribed.  I 
must  tell  you " 

"Now,"  said  the  Egyptian,  sadly,  "I  see  you  are 
angry  with  me.  Is  it  because  I  said  I  lived  in  a  tree? 
Do  forgive  me  for  that  dreadful  lie." 

She  had  gone  on  her  knees  before  he  could  stop  her, 
and  was  gazing  imploringly  at  him,  with  her  hands 
clasped. 

"You  are  mocking  me  again,"  said  Gavin,  "but  I  am 
not  angry  with  you.  Only  you  must  understand " 

She  jumped  up  and  put  her  fingers  to  her  ears. 

"You  see  I  can  hear  nothing,"  she  said. 

"  Listen  while  I  tell  you " 

"  I  don't  hear  a  word.  Why  do  you  scold  me  when  I 
have  kept  my  promise?  If  I  dared  to  take  my  fingers 
from  my  ears  I  would  give  you  the  money  for  Nanny. 
And,  Mr.  Dishart,  I  must  be  gone  in  five  minutes." 

"  In  five  minutes!"  echoed  Gavin,  with  such  a  dismal 
face  that  Babbie  heard  the  words  with  her  eyes,  and 
dropped  her  hands. 

"  Why  are  you  in  such  haste?"  he  asked,  taking  the 
five  pounds  mechanically,  and  forgetting  all  that  he 
had  meant  to  say. 

"Because  they  require  me  at  home,"  she  answerer, 
with  a  sly  glance  at  her  fir.     "And,  remember,  when  1  ( 
run  away  you  must  not  follow  me. " 

"I  won't,"  said  Gavin,  so  promptly  that  she  was 
piqued. 

"  Why  not?"  she  asked.  "  But  of  course  you  only 
came  here  for  the  money.  Well,  you  have  got  it. 
Good-bye." 

"You  know  that  was  not  what  I  meant,"  said  Gavin, 
stepping  after  her.  "  I  have  told  you  already  that  what- 
ever other  people  say,  I  trust  you.  I  believe  iu  you, 
Babbie." 

that  what  you  were  saying  to  the  tree?"  asked 


148  Gbc  Xittlc  /HMnfster. 

the  Egyptian,  demurely.  Then,  perhaps  thinking  it 
wisest  not  to  press  this  point,  she  continued  irrelevantly, 
"  It  seems  such  a  pity  that  you  are  a  minister." 

"  A  pity  to  be  a  minister!"  exclaimed  Gavin,  indig- 
nantly. "  Why,  why,  you — why,  Babbie,  how  have  you 
been  brought  up?" 

"In  a  curious  way,"  Babbie  answered,  shortly,  "but 
I  can't  tell  you  about  that  just  now.  Would  you  like 
to  hear  all  about  me?"  Suddenly  she  seemed  to  have 
become  confidential. 

"  Do  you  really  think  me  a  gypsy?"  she  asked. 

"  I  have  tried  not  to  ask  myself  that  question. " 

"Why?" 

"  Because  it  seems  like  doubting  your  word. " 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  think  of  me  at  all  without 
wondering  who  I  am." 

"  No,  and  so  I  try  not  to  think  of  you  at  all." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  that  you  need  do  that." 

"  I  have  not  quite  succeeded." 

The  Egyptian's  pique  had  vanished,  but  she  may 
have  thought  that  the  conversation  was  becoming  dan- 
gerous, for  she  said  abruptly — 

"Well,  I  sometimes  think  about  you." 

"Do  )rou?"  said  Gavin,  absurdly  gratified.  "What 
do  you  think  about  me?" 

"I  wonder,"  answered  the  Egyptian,  pleasantly, 
"which  of  us  is  the  taller." 

Gavin's  fingers  twitched  with  mortification,  and  not 
only  his  fingers  but  his  toes. 

"  Let  us  measure,"  she  said,  sweetly,  putting  her  back 
to  his.  "  You  are  not  stretching  your  neck,  are  you?" 

But  the  minister  broke  away  from  her. 

"There  is  one  subject,"  he  said,  with  great  dignity, 
"  that  I  allow  no  one  to  speak  of  in  my  presence,  and 
that  is  my — my  height." 

His  face  was  as  white  as  his  cravat  when  the  sur- 
prised Egyptian  next  looked  at  him,  and  he  was  panting 


Continued  /IMsbebaviour.  149 

like  one  who  has  run  a  mile.  She  was  ashamed  of  her- 
self, and  said  so. 

"It  is  a  topic  I  would  rather  not  speak  about,"  Gavin 
answered,  dejectedly,  "especially  to  you." 

He  meant  that  he  would  rather  be  a  tall  man  in  her 
company  than  in  any  other,  and  possibly  she  knew  this, 
though  all  she  answered  was — 

"  You  wanted  to  know  if  I  am  really  a  gypsy.  Well, 
lam." 

*'  An  ordinary  gypsy?" 

"  Do  you  think  me  ordinary?" 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  to  think  of  you." 

"  Ah,  well,  that  is  my  forbidden  topic.  But  we  have 
a  good  many  ideas  in  common  after  all,  have  we  not, 
though  you  are  only  a  minis — I  mean,  though  I  am  only 
a  gypsy?" 

There  fell  between  them  a  silence  that  gave  Babbie 
time  to  remember  she  must  go. 

"I  have  already  stayed  too  long,"  she  said.  "Give 
my  love  to  Nanny,  and  say  that  I  am  coming  to  see  her 
soon,  perhaps  on  Monday.  I  don't  suppose  you  will 
be  there  on  Monday,  Mr.  Dishart?" 

"I — I  cannot  say." 

"  No,  you  will  be  too  busy.  Are  you  to  take  the  holly 
berries?" 

"  I  had  better  not,"  said  Gavin,  dolefully. 

"  Oh,  if  you  don't  want  them — 

"Give  them  to  me,"  he  said,  and  as  he  took  them  his 
hand  shook. 

"  I  know  why  you  are  looking  so  troubled,"  said  the 
Egyptian,  archly.  "You  think  I  am  to  ask  you  the 
colour  of  my  eyes,  and  you  have  forgotten  again." 

He  would  have  answered,  but  she  checked  him. 

"  Make  no  pretence,"  she  said,  severely;  "  I  know  you 
think  they  are  blue." 

She  came  close  to  him  until  her  face  almost  touched 
his. 


150  TTbe  ILfttle  Minister. 

"Look  hard  at  them,"  she  said,  solemnly,  "and  after 
this  you  may  remember  that  they  are  black,  black, 
black!" 

At  each  repetition  of  the  word  she  shook  her  head  in 
his  face.  She  was  adorable.  Gavin's  arms — but  they 
met  on  nothing.  She  had  run  away. 

When  the  little  minister  had  gone,  a  man  came  from 
behind  a  tree  and  shook  his  fist  in  the  direction  taken 
by  the  gypsy.  It  was  Rob  Dow,  black  with  passion. 

"It's  the  Egyptian!"  he  cried.  "You  limmer,  wha 
are  you  that  hae  got  haud  o'  the  minister?" 

He  pursued  her,  but  she  vanished  as  from  Gavin  in 
Windyghoul. 

"A  common  Egyptian!"  he  muttered  when  he  had 
to  give  up  the  search.  "  But  take  care,  you  little  devil," 
he  called  aloud;  "take  care;  if  I  catch  you  playing 
pranks  wi'  that  man  again  I'll  wring  your  neck  like  a 
hen's!" 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

INTRUSION  OF  HAGGART  INTO  THESE  PAGES  AGAINST  THB 
AUTHOR'S  WISH. 

MARGARET  having  heard  the  doctor  say  that  one  may 
catch  cold  in  the  back,  had  decided  instantly  to  line 
Gavin's  waistcoat  with  flannel.  She  was  thus  engaged, 
with  pins  in  her  mouth  and  the  scissors  hiding  from  her 
every  time  she  wanted  them,  when  Jean,  red  and  flur- 
ried, abruptly  entered  the  room. 

"There!  I  forgot  to  knock  at  the  door  again,"  Jean 
exclaimed,  pausing  contritely. 

"  Never  mind.  Is  it  Rob  Dow  wanting  the  minister?" 
asked  Margaret,  who  had  seen  Rob  pass  the  manse  dyke. 

"  Na,  he  wasna  wanting  to  see  the  minister." 

"Ah,  then,  he  came  to  see  you,  Jean,"  said  Margaret, 
archly. 

"  A  widow  man !"  cried  Jean,  tossing  her  head.  "  But 
Rob  Dow  was  in  no  condition  to  be  friendly  wi'  ony- 
body  the  now." 

"Jean,  you  don't  mean  that  he  has  been  drinking 
again?" 

"  I  canna  say  he  was  drunk. " 

"Then  what  condition  was  he  in?" 

"  He  was  in  a — a  swearing  condition,"  Jean  answered, 
guardedly.  "  But  what  I  want  to  speir  at  you  is,  can  I 
gang  down  to  the  Tenements  for  a  minute?  I'll  run 
there  and  back." 

"  Certainly  you  can  go,  Jean,  but  you  must  not  run. 
You  are  always  running.  Did  Dow  bring  you  word 
that  you  were  wanted  in  the  Tenements?" 


152  Cbe  little  Atnister. 

"  No  exactly,  but  I — I  want  to  consult  Tammas  Hag. 
gart  about — about  something." 

"About  Dow,  I  believe,  Jean?" 

"  Na,  but  about  something  he  has  done.  Oh,  ma'am, 
you  surely  dinna  think  I  would  take  a  widow  man?" 

It  was  the  day  after  Gavin's  meeting  with  the  Egyp- 
tian at  the  Kaims,  and  here  is  Jean's  real  reason  for 
wishing  to  consult  Haggart.  Half  an  hour  before  she 
hurried  to  the  parlour  she  had  been  at  the  kitchen  door 
wondering  whether  she  should  spread  out  her  washing 
in  the  garret  or  risk  hanging  it  in  the  courtyard.  She 
had  just  decided  on  the  garret  when  she  saw  Rob  Dow 
morosely  regarding  her  from  the  gateway. 

"  Whaur  is  he?"  growled  Rob. 

"He's  out,  but  it's  no  for  me  to  say  whaurheis," 
replied  Jean,  whose  weakness  was  to  be  considered  a 
church  official.  "No  that  I  ken,"  truthfulness  com- 
pelled her  to  add,  for  she  had  an  ambition  to  be 
everything  she  thought  Gavin  would  like  a  woman 
to  be. 

Rob  seized  her  wrists  viciously  and  glowered  into  her 
face. 

"  You're  ane  o'  them,"  he  said. 

"  Let  me  go.     Ane  o'  what?" 

"Ane  o'  thae  limmers  called  women." 

"Sal,"  retorted  Jean  with  spirit,  "you're  ane  o'  thae 
brutes  called  men.  You're  drunk,  Rob  Dow." 

"  In  the  legs  maybe,  but  no  higher.     I  haud  a  heap. " 

"  Drunk  again,  after  all  your  promises  to  the  minister ! 
And  you  said  yoursel'  that  he  had  pulled  you  out  o'  hell 
by  the  root. " 

"It's  himsel'  that  has  flung  me  back  again,"  Rob 
said,  wildly.  "Jean  Baxter,  what  does  it  mean  when  a 
minister  carries  flowers  in  his  pouch;  ay,  and  takes 
them  out  to  look  at  them  ilka  minute?" 

"How  do  you  ken  about  the  holly?"  asked  Jean,  off 
her  guard. 


Intrusion  of  'fcaggart.  153 

"You  limmer,"  said  Dow,  "you've  been  in  his 
pouches. " 

"It's  a  lie!"  cried  the  outraged  Jean.  "  I  just  saw 
the  holly  this  morning  in  a  jug  on  his  chimley." 

"Carefully  put  by?  Is  it  hod  on  the  chimley?  Does 
he  stand  looking  at  it?  Do  you  tell  me  he's  fond-like 
o't?" 

"Mercy  me!"  Jean  exclaimed,  beginning  to  shake; 
"wha  is  she,  Rob  Dow?" 

"  Let  me  see  it  first  in  its  jug,"  Rob  answered,  slyly, 
"  and  syne  I  may  tell  you. " 

This  was  not  the  only  time  Jean  had  been  asked  to 
show  the  minister's  belongings.  Snecky  Hobart,  among 
others,  had  tried  on  Gavin's  hat  in  the  manse  kitchen, 
and  felt  queer  for  some  time  afterwards.  Women  had 
been  introduced  on  tiptoe  to  examine  the  handle  of  his 
umbrella.  But  Rob  had  not  come  to  admire.  He 
snatched  the  holly  from  Jean's  hands,  and  casting  it  on 
the  ground  pounded  it  with  his  heavy  boots,  crying, 
"  Greet  as  you  like,  Jean.  That's  the  end  o'  his  flowers, 
and  if  I  had  the  tawpie  he  got  them  frae  I  would  serve 
her  in  the  same  way." 

"  I'll  tell  him  what  you've  done,"  said  terrified  Jean, 
who  had  tried  to  save  the  berries  at  the  expense  of  her 
fingers. 

"Tell  him,"  Dow  roared;  "and  tell  him  what  I  said 
too.  Ay,  and  tell  him  I  was  at  the  Kaims  yestreen. 
Tell  him  I'm  hunting  high  and  low  for  an  Egyptian 
woman." 

He  flung  recklessly  out  of  the  courtyard,  leaving 
Jean  looking  blankly  at  the  mud  that  had  been  holly 
lately.  Not  his  act  of  sacrilege  was  distressing  her, 
but  his  news.  Were  these  berries  a  love  token?  Had 
God  let  Rob  Dow  say  they  were  a  gypsy's  love  token, 
and  not  slain  him? 

That  Rob  spoke  of  the  Egyptian  of  the  riots  Jean 
never  doubted.  It  was  known  that  the  minister  had 


1M  Sbe  little  Minister. 

met  this  woman  in  Nanny  Webster's  house,  but  was  it 
not  also  known  that  he  had  given  her  such  a  talking- to 
as  she  coulJ  u^ver  come  above?  Many  could  repeat  the 
words  in  which  he  had  announced  to  Nanny  that  his 
wealthy  friends  in  Glasgow  were  to  give  her  all  she 
needed.  They  could  also  tell  how  majestic  he  looked 
when  he  turned  the  Egyptian  out  of  the  house.  In 
short,  Nanny  having  kept  her  promise  of  secrecy,  the 
people  had  been  forced  to  construct  the  scene  in  the 
mud  house  for  themselves,  and  it  was  only  their  story 
that  was  known  to  Jean. 

She  decided  that,  so  far  as  the  gypsy  was  concerned, 
Rob  had  talked  trash.  He  had  seen  the  holly  in  the 
minister's  hand,  and,  being  in  drink,  had  mixed  it  up 
with  the  gossip  about  the  Egyptian.  But  that  Gavin 
had  preserved  the  holly  because  of  the  donor  was  as 
obvious  to  Jean  as  that  the  vase  in  her  hand  was  empty. 
Who  could  she  be?  No  doubt  all  the  single  ladies  in 
Thrums  were  in  love  with  him,  but  that,  Jean  was  sure, 
had  not  helped  them  a  step  forward. 

To  think  was  to  Jean  a  waste  of  time.  Discovering 
that  she  had  been  thinking,  she  was  dismayed.  There 
were  the  wet  clothes  in  the  basket  looking  reproachfully 
at  her.  She  hastened  back  to  Gavin's  room  with  the 
vase,  but  it  too  had  eyes,  and  they  said,  "  When  the 
minister  misses  his  holly  he  will  question  you."  Now 
Gavin  had  already  smiled  several  times  to  Jean,  and 
once  he  had  marked  passages  for  her  in  her  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress,"  with  the  result  that  she  prized  the  marks 
more  even  than  the  passages.  To  lose  his  good  opinion 
was  terrible  to  her.  In  her  perplexity  she  decided  to 
consult  wise  Tammas  Haggart,  and  hence  her  appeal  to 
Margaret. 

To  avoid  Chirsty,  the  humourist's  wife,  Jean  sought 
Haggart  at  his  workshop  window,  which  was  so  small 
that  an  old  book  sufficed  for  its  shutter.  Haggart, 
whom  she  could  see  distinctly  at  his  loom,  soon  guessed 


Intrusion  of  t>aggart.  155 

from  her  knocks  and  signs  (for  he  was  strangely  quick 
in  the  uptake)  that  she  wanted  him  to  open  the  window. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  confidentially,"  Jean  said  in 
a  low  voice.  "  If  you  saw  a  grand  man  gey  fond  o'  a 
flower,  what  would  you  think?" 

"I  would  think,  Jean,"  Haggart  answered,  reflec- 
tively, "that  he  had  gien  siller  for't;  ay,  I  would 
wonder " 

"What  would  you  wonder?" 

"  I  would  wonder  how  muckle  he  paid." 

"  But  if  he  was  a — a  minister,  and  keepit  the  flower 
— say  it  was  a  common  rose — fond-like  on  his  chimley, 
what  would  you  think?" 

"  I  would  think  it  was  a  black-burning  disgrace  for  a 
minister  to  be  fond  o'  flowers. " 

"I  dinna  haud  wi'  that." 

"Jean,"  said  Haggart,  "I  allow  no  one  to  contradict 
me." 

"  It  wasna  my  design.  But,  Tammas,  if  a — a  minis- 
ter was  fond  o'  a  particular  flower — say  a  rose — and  you 
destroyed  it  by  an  accident,  when  he  wasna  looking, 
what  would  you  do?" 

"I  would  gie  him  another  rose  for't." 

"  But  if  you  didna  want  him  to  ken  you  had  meddled 
wi't  on  his  chimley,  what  would  you  do?" 

"  I  would  put  the  new  rose  on  the  chimley,  and  he 
would  never  ken  the  differ. " 

"That's  what  I'll  do,"  muttered  Jean,  but  she  said 
aloud — 

"  But  it  micht  be  that  particular  rose  he  liked?" 

"  Havers,  Jean.  To  a  thinking  man  one  rose  is 
identical  wi'  another  rose.  But  how  are  you  speiring?" 

"Just  out  o*  curiosity,  and  I  maun  be  stepping  now. 
Thank  you  kindly,  Tammas,  for  your  humour." 

"You're  welcome,"  Haggart  answered,  and  closed 
his  window. 

That  day  Rob  Dow  spent  in  misery,  but  so  little  were 


156  Sbe  Xittle  Minister. 

his  fears  selfish  that  he  scarcely  gave  a  thought  to  his 
conduct  at  the  manse.  For  an  hour  he  sat  at  his  loom 
with  his  arms  folded.  Then  he  slouched  out  of  the 
house,  cursing  little  Micah,  so  that  a  neighbour  cried 
"You  drucken  scoundrel!"  after  him.  "  He  may  be  a 
wee  drunk,"  said  Micah  in  his  father's  defence,  "but 
he's  no  mortal."  Rob  wondered  to  the  Kaims  in  search 
of  the  Egyptian,  and  returned  home  no  happier.  He 
flung  himself  upon  his  bed  and  dared  Micah  to  light  the 
lamp.  About  gloaming  he  rose,  unable  to  keep  his 
mouth  shut  on  his  thoughts  any  longer,  and  staggered 
to  the  Tenements  to  consult  Haggart.  He  found  the 
humourist's  door  ajar,  and  Wearyworld  listening  at  it. 
"Out  o'  the  road!"  cried  Rob,  savagely,  and  flung  the 
policeman  into  the  gutter. 

"That  was  ill-dune,  Rob  Dow,"  Wearyworld  said, 
picking  himself  up  leisurely. 

"  I'm  thinking  it  was  weel-dune,"  snarled  Rob. 

"Ay, "said  Wearyworld,  "we  needna  quarrel  about 
a  difference  o'  opeenion;  but,  Rob " 

Dow,  however,  had  already  entered  the  house  and 
slammed  the  door. 

"Ay,  ay,"  muttered  Wearyworld,  departing,  "you 
micht  hae  stood  still,  Rob,  and  argued  it  out  wi* 
me." 

In  less  than  an  hour  after  his  conversation  with  Jean 
at  the  window  it  had  suddenly  struck  Haggart  that  the 
minister  she  spoke  of  must  be  Mr.  Dishart.  In  two 
hours  he  had  confided  his  suspicions  to  Chirsty.  In  ten 
minutes  she  had  filled  the  house  with  gossips.  Rob 
arrived  to  find  them  in  full  cry. 

"Ay,  Rob,"  said  Chirsty,  genially,  for  gossip  levels 
ranks,  "  you're  just  in  time  to  hear  a  query  about  the 
minister. " 

"Rob, "said  the  Glen  Quharity  post,  from  whom  I 
subsequently  got  the  story,  "  Mr.  Dishart  has  fallen  in — 
in — what  do  you  call  the  thing,  Chirsty?" 


Intrusion  of  fbaggart.  157 

Birse  knew  well  what  the  thing-  was  called,  but  the 
word  is  a  staggerer  to  say  in  company. 

"In  love,"  answered  Chirsty,  boldly. 

**  Now  we  ken  what  he  was  doing  in  the  country  yes- 
treen," said  Snecky  Hobart,  "the  which  has  been 
bothering  us  sair. " 

"  The  manse  is  fu'  o*  the  flowers  she  sends  him,"  said 
Tibbie  Craik.  "Jean's  at  her  wits'-end  to  ken  whaur 
to  put  them  a'." 

•'Wha  is  she?" 

It  was  Rob  Dow  who  spoke.  All  saw  he  had  been 
drinking,  or  they  might  have  wondered  at  his  vehe- 
mence. As  it  was,  everybody  looked  at  every  other 
body,  and  then  everybody  sighed. 

"Ay,  wha  is  she?"  repeated  several. 

"I  see  you  ken  nothing  about  her,"  said  Rob,  much 
relieved ;  and  he  then  lapsed  into  silence. 

"We  ken  a'  about  her,"  said  Snecky,  "except  just 
wha  she  is.  Ay,  that's  what  we  canna  bottom.  Maybe 
you  could  guess,  Tammas?" 

''  Maybe  I  could,  Sneck,"  Haggart  replied,  cautiously; 
"but  on  that  point  I  offer  no  opinion." 

"  If  she  bides  on  the  Kaims  road,"  said  Tibbie  Craik, 
"  she  maun  be  a  farmer's  dochter.  What  say  you  to 
Bell  Finlay?" 

"Na;  she's  U.  P.  But  it  micht  be  Loups  o'  Mal- 
colm's sister.  She's  promised  to  Muckle  Haws;  but 
no  doubt  she  would  gie  him  the  go-by  at  a  word  frae 
the  minister." 

"It's  mair  likely,"  said  Chirsty,  "to  be  the  factor  at 
the  Spittal's  lassie.  The  factor  has  a  grand  garden, 
and  that  would  account  for  such  basketfuls  o'  flowers." 

"  Whaever  she  is,"  said  Birse,  "  I'm  thinking  he  could 
hae  done  better." 

"I'll  be  fine  pleased  wi'  ony  o'  them,"  said  Tibbie, 
who  had  a  magenta  silk,  and  so  was  jealous  of  no  one. 

"  It  hasna  been  proved,"  Haggart  pointed  out,  "that 


158  fcbe  Xittlc  /Minister. 

the  flowers  came  frae  thae  parts.  She  may  be  sending 
them  frae  Glasgow." 

"  I  aye  understood  it  was  a  Glasgow  lady, "  said  Snecky. 
"  He'll  be  like  the  Tilliedrum  minister  that  got  a  lady 
to  send  him  to  the  college  on  the  promise  that  he  would 
marry  her  as  soon  as  he  got  a  kirk.  She  made  him  sign 
a  paper." 

"The  far-seeing  limmer,"  exclaimed  Chirsty.  "But 
if  that's  what  Mr.  Dishart  has  done,  how  has  he  kept  it 
so  secret?" 

"  He  wouldna  want  the  women  o'  the  congregation  to 
ken  he  was  promised  till  after  they  had  voted  for  him." 

"I  dinna  haud  wi'  that  explanation  o't,"  said  Hag- 
gart,  "but  I  may  tell  you  that  I  ken  for  sure  she's  a 
Glasgow  leddy.  Lads,  ministers  is  near  aye  bespoke 
afore  they're  licensed.  There's  a  michty  competition 
for  them  in  the  big  toons.  Ay,  the  leddies  just  stand 
at  the  college  gates,  as  you  may  say,  and  snap  them  up 
as  they  come  out. " 

"And  just  as  well  for  the  ministers,  I'se  uphaud," 
said  Tibbie,  "for  it  saves  them  a  heap  o'  persecution 
when  they  come  to  the  like  o'  Thrums.  There  was  Mr. 
Meiklejohn,  the  U.  P.  minister:  he  was  no  sooner  placed 
than  every  genteel  woman  in  the  town  was  persecuting 
him.  The  Miss  Dobies  was  the  maist  shameless ;  they 
fair  hunted  him." 

"Ay,"  said  Snecky;  "and  in  the  tail  o'  the  day  ane 
o'  them  snacked  him  up.  Billies,  did  you  ever  hear 
o'  a  minister  being  refused?" 

"Never." 

"Weel,  then,  I  have;  and  by  a  widow  woman  too. 
His  name  was  Samson,  and  if  it  had  been  Tamson  she 
would  hae  ta'en  him.  Ay,  you  may  look,  but  it's  true. 
Her  name  was  Turnbull,  and  she  had  another  gent  after 
her,  name  o'  Tibbets.  She  couldna  make  up  her  mind 
atween  them,  and  for  a  while  she  just  keeped  them  dan- 
gling on.  Ay,  but  in  the  end  she  took  Tibbets.  And 


Intrusion  of  Ibasgart. 


wnat,  think  you,  was  her  reason?  As  yon  ken,  thae 
grand  folk  has  their  initials  on  their  spoons  and  nicht- 
gowns.  Ay,  weel,  she  thocht  it  would  be  mair  handy 
to  take  Tibbets,  because  if  she  had  ta'en  the  minister 
the  T's  would  have  had  to  be  changed  to  S's.  It  was 
thoctfu'  o'  her." 

"  Is  Tibbets  living?"  asked  Haggart  sharply. 

"  No;  he's  dead." 

"  What,"  asked  Haggart,  "  was  the  corp  to  trade?" 

"  I  dinna  ken.  " 

"I  thocht  no,"  said  Haggart,  triumphantly.  "Weel, 
I  warrant  he  was  a  minister  too.  Ay,  catch  a  woman 
giving  up  a  minister,  except  for  another  minister." 

All  were  looking  on  Haggart  with  admiration,  when 
a  voice  from  the  door  cried  — 

"  Listen,  and  I'll  tell  you  a  queerer  ane  than  that." 

"Dagont,"  cried  Birse,  "it's  Weary  warld,  and  he  has 
been  hearkening.  Leave  him  to  me." 

When  the  post  returned,  the  conversation  was  back 
at  Mr.  Dish  art. 

"Yes,  lathies,"  Haggart  was  sa}-ing,  "daftness  about 
women  comes  to  all,  gentle  and  simple,  common  and 
colleged,  humourists  and  no  humourists.  You  say  Mr. 
Dish  art  has  preached  ower  muckle  at  women  to  stoop 
to  marriage,  but  that  makes  no  differ.  Mony  a  humor- 
ous thing  hae  I  said  about  women,  and  yet  Chirsty  has 
me.  It's  the  same  wi'  ministers.  A'  at  aince  they  see 
a  lassie  no'  unlike  ither  lassies,  a\\ay  goes  their  learn- 
ing, and  they  skirl  out,  'You  dawtie!'  That's  what 
comes  to  all." 

"  But  it  hasna  come  to  Mr.  Dishart,"  cried  Rob  Dow, 
jumping  to  his  feet.  He  had  sought  Haggart  to  tell 
him  all,  but  now  he  saw  the  wisdom  of  telling  nothing. 
"I'm  sick  o'  your  blathers.  Instead  o'  the  minister's 
being  sweethearting  yesterday,  he  was  just  at  the 
Kaims  visiting  the  gamekeeper.  I  met  him  in  the 
Wast  town-end,  and  gaed  there  and  back  wi'  him." 


160  Sbe  Xfttlc  Minister. 

"That's  proof  it's  a  Glasgow  leddy,"  said  Snecky. 

"  I  tell  you  there's  no  leddy  ava!"  swore  Rob. 

"Yea,  and  wha  sends  the  baskets  o'  flowers,  then?" 

"There  was  only  one  flower,"  said  Rob,  turning  to 
his  host. 

"I  aye  understood,"  said  Haggart  heavily,  "that 
there  was  only  one  flower. " 

"But  though  there  was  just  ane,"  persisted  Chirsty, 
"what  we  want  to  ken  is  wha  gae  him  it." 

"It  was  me  that  gae  him  it,"  said  Rob;  "it  was 
growing  on  the  roadside,  and  I  plucked  it  and  gae  it  to 
him." 

The  company  dwindled  away  shamefacedly,  yet  un- 
convinced ;  but  Haggart  had  courage  to  say  slowly — 

"Yes,  Rob,  I  had  aye  a  notion  that  he  got  it  frae 
you. " 

Meanwhile,  Gavin,  unaware  that  talk  about  him  and 
a  woman  unknown  had  broken  out  in  Thrums,  was  gaz- 
ing, sometimes  lovingly  and  again  with  scorn,  at  a  lit- 
tle bunch  of  holly-berries  which  Jean  had  gathered  from 
her  father's  garden.  Once  she  saw  him  fling  them  out 
of  his  window,  and  then  she  rejoiced.  But  an  hour 
afterwards  she  saw  him  pick  them  up,  and  then  she 
mourned.  Nevertheless,  to  her  great  delight,  he 
preached  his  third  sermon  against  Woman  on  the  follow- 
ing Sabbath.  It  was  universally  acknowledged  to  be 
the  best  of  the  series.  It  was  also  the  last. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

CADDAM— LOVE  LEADING  TO  A  RUPTURE. 

GAVIN  told  himself  not  to  go  near  the  mud  house  on 
the  following  Monday ;  but  he  went.  The  distance  is 
half  a  mile,  and  the  time  he  took  was  two  hours.  This 
was  owing  to  his  setting  out  due  west  to  reach  a  point 
due  north;  yet  with  the  intention  of  deceiving  none 
save  himself.  His  reason  had  warned  him  to  avoid  the 
Egyptian,  and  his  desires  had  consented  to  be  dragged 
westward  because  they  knew  he  had  started  too  soon. 
When  the  proper  time  came  they  knocked  reason  on  the 
head  and  carried  him  straight  to  Caddam.  Here  reason 
came  to,  and  again  began  to  state  its  case.  Desires 
permitted  him  to  halt,  as  if  to  argue  the  matter  out,  but 
were  thus  tolerant  merely  because  from  where  he  stood 
he  could  see  Nanny's  doorway.  When  Babbie  emerged 
from  it  reason  seems  to  have  made  one  final  effort,  for 
Gavin  quickly  took  that  side  of  a  tree  which  is  loved  of 
squirrels  at  the  approach  of  an  enemy.  He  looked 
round  the  tree-trunk  at  her,  and  then  reason  discarded 
him.  The  gypsy  had  two  empty  pans  in  her  hands. 
For  a  second  she  gazed  in  the  minister's  direction,  then 
demurely  leaped  the  ditch  of  leaves  that  separated 
Nanny's  yard  from  Caddam,  and  strolled  into  the  wood. 
Discovering  with  indignation  that  he  had  been  skulk- 
ing behind  the  tree,  Gavin  came  into  the  open.  How 
good  of  the  Egyptian,  he  rcffc~fed,  to  go  to  the  well  for 
water,  and  thus  save  the  old  woman's  arms!  Reason 
shouted  from  near  the  manse  (he  only  heard  the  echo) 
that  he  could  still  make  up  on  it.  "Come  along," 
ii 


163  tTbc  Xittle  /BMnfster. 

said  his  desires,  and  marched  him  prisoner  to  the 
well. 

The  path  which  Babbie  took  that  day  is  lost  in  blae- 
berry leaves  now,  and  my  little  maid  and  I  lately 
searched  for  an  hour  before  we  found  the  well.  It  was 
dry,  choked  with  broom  and  stones,  and  broken  rusty 
pans,  but  we  sat  down  where  Babbie  and  Gavin  had 
talked,  and  I  stirred  up  many  memories.  Probably  two 
of  those  pans,  that  could  be  broken  in  the  hands  to-day 
like  shortbread,  were  Nanny's,  and  almost  certainly  the 
stones  are  fragments  from  the  great  slab  that  used  to 
cover  the  well.  Children  like  to  peer  into  wells  to  see 
what  the  world  is  like  at  the  other  side,  and  so  this 
covering  was  necessary.  Rob  Angus  was  the  strong 
man  who  bore  the  stone  to  Caddam,  flinging  it  a  yard 
before  him  at  a  time.  The  well  had  also  a  wooden  lid 
with  leather  hinges,  and  over  this  the  stone  was  dragged. 

Gavin  arrived  at  the  well  in  time  to  offer  Babbie  the 
loan  of  his  arms.  In  her  struggle  she  had  taken  her 
lips  into  her  mouth,  but  in  vain  did  she  tug  at  the  stone, 
which  refused  to  do  more  than  turn  round  on  the  wood. 
But  for  her  presence,  the  minister's  efforts  would  have 
been  equally  futile.  Though  not  strong,  however,  he 
had  the  national  horrer  of  being  beaten  before  a  specta- 
tor, and  once  at  school  he  had  won  a  fight  by  telling  his 
big  antagonist  to  come  on  until  the  boy  was  tired  of 
pummelling  him.  As  he  fought  with  the  stone  now, 
pains  shot  through  his  head,  and  his  arms  threatened  to 
come  away  at  the  shoulders ;  but  remove  it  he  did. 

"How  strong  you  are!"  Babbie  said  with  open 
admiration. 

I  am  sure  no  words  of  mine  could  tell  how  pleased  the 
minister  was;  yet  he  knew  he  was  not  strong,  and 
might  have  known  that  she  had  seen  him  do  many 
things  far  more  worthy  of  admiration  without  admiring 
them.  This,  indeed,  is  a  sad  truth,  that  we  seldom 
give  our  love  to  what  is  worthiest  in  its  object. 


Xove  UcaDtng  to  a  TRupture.  168 

"  How  curious  that  we  should  have  met  here,"  Babbie 
said,  in  her  dangerously  friendly  way,  as  they  filled  the 
pans.  "  Do  you  know  I  quite  started  when  your  shadow 
fell  suddenly  on  the  stone.  Did  you  happen  to  be  pass- 
ing through  the  wood?" 

"No,"  answered  truthful  Gavin,  "I  was  looking  for 
you.  I  thought  you  saw  me  from  Nanny's  door." 

"  Did  you?  I  only  saw  a  man  hiding  behind  a  tree, 
and  of  course  I  knew  It  could  not  be  you." 

Gavin  looked  at  her  sharply,  but  she  was  not  laugh- 
ing at  him. 

41  It  was  I,"  he  admitted;  "but  I  was  not  exactly  hid- 
ing behind  the  tree."  • 

"  You  had  only  stepped  behind  it  for  a  moment,"  sug- 
gested the  Egyptian. 

Her  gravity  gave  way  to  laughter  under  Gavin's  sus- 
picious looks,  but  the  laughing  ended  abruptly.  She 
had  heard  a  noise  in  the  wood,  Gavin  heard  it  too,  and 
they  both  turned  round  in  time  to  see  two  ragged  boys 
running  from  them.  When  boys  are  very  happy  they 
think  they  must  be  doing  wrong,  and  in  a  wood,  of 
which  they  are  among  the  natural  inhabitants,  they 
always  take  flight  from  the  enemy,  adults,  if  given  time. 
For  my  own  part,  when  I  see  a  boy  drop  from  a  tree  I 
am  as  little  surprised  as  if  he  were  an  apple  or  a  nut. 
But  Gavin  was  startled,  picturing  these  spies  handing 
in  the  new  sensation  about  him  at  every  door,  as  a  dis- 
trict "wsitor  distributes  tracts.  The  gypsy  noted  his 
uneasiness  and  resented  it. 

"What  does  it  feel  like  to  be  afraid?"  she  asked,  eye- 
ing him. 

"I  am  afraid  of  nothing,"  Gavin  answered,  offended 
In  turn. 

"Yes,  you  are.  When  you  saw  me  come  out  of 
Nanny's  you  crept  behind  a  tree;  when  these  boys 
showed  themselves  you  shook.  You  are  afraid  of  being 
seen  with  me,  Go  awny,  then;  I  don't  want  you  " 


164  Sbe  TLittlc  Minister. 

"Fear,"  said  Gavin,  "is  one  thing,  and  prudence  is 
another." 

"Another  name  for  it,"  Babbie  interposed. 

"  Not  at  all ;  but  I  owe  it  to  my  position  to  be  care- 
ful. Unhappily,  you  do  not  seern  to  feel — to  recognise 
— to  know " 

"  To  know  what?" 

"  Let  us  avoid  the  subject." 

"  No,"  the  Egyptian  said,  petulantly.  "  I  hate  not  to 
be  told  things.  Why  must  you  be  'prudent?'" 

"You  should  see,"  Gavin  replied,  awkwardly,  "that 
there  is  a — a  difference  between  a  minister  and  a 
gypsy." 

"But  if  I  am  willing  to  overlook  it?"  asked  Babbie, 
impertinently. 

Gavin  beat  the  brushwood  mournfully  with  his  staff. 

"  I  cannot  allow  you,"  he  said,  "  to  talk  disrespectfully 
of  my  calling.  It  is  the  highest  a  man  can  follow.  I 
wish " 

He  checked  himself;  but  he  was  wishing  she  could 
see  him  in  his  pulpit. 

"I  suppose,"  said  the  gypsy,  reflectively,  "one  must 
be  very  clever  to  be  a  minister." 

"  As  for  that "  answered  Gavin,  waving  his  hand 

grandly. 

"  And  it  must  be  nice,  too,"  continued  Babbie,  "to  be 
able  to  speak  for  a  whole  hour  to  people  who  can  neither 
answer  nor  go  away.  Is  it  true  that  before  you  begin 
to  preach  you  lock  the  door  to  keep  the  congregation 
in?" 

"  I  must  leave  you  if  you  talk  in  that  way." 

"  I  only  wanted  to  know." 

"  Oh,  Babbie,  I  am  afraid  you  have  little  acquaint- 
ance with  the  inside  of  churches.  Do  you  sit  under 
anybody?" 

"  Do  I  sit  under  anybody?"  repeated  Babbie,  blankly. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  minister  sighed?     "Whom 


love  Zeaofng  to  a  "Rupture.  185 

do  you  sit  under?"  was  his  form  of  salutation  to 
strangers. 

"  I  mean,  where  do  you  belong?"  he  said. 

"Wanderers,"  Babbie  answered,  still  misunderstand- 
ing him,  "belong  to  nowhere  in  particular." 

"  I  am  only  asking  you  if  you  ever  go  to  church?" 

"Oh,  that  is  what  you  mean.     Yes,  I  go  often." 

"What  church?" 

"You  promised  not  to  ask  questions." 

"  I  only  mean  what  denomination  do  you  belong  to?" 

"Oh,  the — the Is  there  an  English  church 

denomination?" 

Gavin  groaned. 

"Well,  that  is  my  denomination,"  said  Babbie,  cheer- 
fully. "  Some  day,  though,  I  am  coming  to  hear  you 
preach.  I  should  like  to  see  how  you  look  in  your  gown. " 

"We  don't  wear  gowns." 

"  What  a  shame !  But  I  am  coming,  nevertheless.  I 
used  to  like  going  to  church  in  Edinburgh." 

"You  have  lived  in  Edinburgh?" 

"We  gypsies  have  lived  everywhere,"  Babbie  said, 
lightly,  though  she  was  annoyed  at  having  mentioned 
Edinburgh. 

"But  all  gypsies  don't  speak  as  you  do,"  said  Gavin, 
puzzled  again.  "  I  don't  understand  you." 

"Of  course  you  dinna,"  replied  Babbie,  in  broad 
Scotch.  "  Maybe,  if  you  did,  you  would  think  that  it's 
mair  imprudent  in  me  to  stand  here  cracking  clavers 
wi'  the  minister  than  for  the  minister  to  waste  his  time 
cracking  wi'  me." 

"Then  why  doit?" 

"  Because Oh,  because  prudence  and  I  always 

take  different  roads." 

"Tell  me  who  you  are,  Babbie,"  the  minister  en- 
treated; "at  least,  tell  me  where  your  encampment  is." 

"You  have  warned  me  against  imprudence,"  she 
said. 


iw  Cbe  Xittle  flftfnfater. 

"  I  want,"  Gavin  continued,  earnestly,  "  to  know  your 
people,  your  father  and  mother." 

"Why?" 

"Because,"  he  answered,  stoutly,  "I  like  their 
daughter." 

At  that  Babbie's  fingers  played  on  one  of  the  pans, 
*nd,  for  the  moment,  there  was  no  more  badinage  in  her. 

"  You  are  a  good  man,"  she  said,  abruptly;  "but  you 
will  never  know  my  parents. " 

"  Are  they  dead?" 

"They  may  be;  I  cannot  tell." 

"This  is  all  incomprehensible  to  me." 

"  I  suppose  it  is.  I  never  asked  any  one  to  under- 
stand me." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Gavin,  excitedly;  "but  the  time 
has  come  when  I  must  know  everything  of  you  that  is 
to  be  known. " 

Babbie  receded  from  him  in  quick  fear. 

"You  must  never  speak  to  me  in  that  way  again," 
she  said,  in  a  warning  voice. 

"  In  what  way?" 

Gavin  knew  what  way  very  well,  but  he  thirsted  to 
hear  in  her  words  what  his  own  had  implied.  She  did 
not  choose  to  oblige  him,  however. 

"You  never  will  understand  me, "she  said.  "I  dare- 
say I  might  be  more  like  other  people  now,  if — if  I  had 
been  brought  up  differently.  Not,"  she  added,  passion- 
ately, "that  I  want  to  be  like  others.  Do  you  never 
feel,  when  you  have  been  living  a  humdrum  life  for 
| months,  that  you  must  break  out  of  it,  or  go  crazy?" 

Her  vehemence  alarmed  Gavin,  who  hastened  to 
reply— 

"  My  life  is  not  humdrum.  It  is  full  of  excitement, 
anxieties,  pleasures,  and  I  am  too  fond  of  the  pleasures. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  I  have  more  of  the  luxuries  of  life 
than  you  that  I  am  so  content  with  my  lot. " 

"  Why,  what  can  you  know  of  luxuries?" 


Xove  leatMmi  to  a  "Kupturc.  167 

"  I  have  eighty  pounds  a  year. " 

Babbie  laughed.  "Are  ministers  so  poor?"  she 
asked,  calling  back  her  gravity. 

"  It  is  a  considerable  sum,"  said  Gavin,  a  little  hurt, 
for  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  heard  any  one  speak 
disrespectfully  of  eighty  pounds. 

The  Egyptian  looked  down  at  her  ring,  and  smiled. 

"  I  shall  always  remember  your  saying  that,"  she  told 
him,  "after  we  have  quarrelled." 

"We  shall  not  quarrel,"  said  Gavin,  decidedly. 

"Oh,  yes,  we  shall." 

"We  might  have  done  so  once,  but  we  know  each 
other  too  well  now. " 

" That  is  why  we  are  to  quarrel." 

"About  what?"  said  the  minister.  "I  have  not 
blamed  you  for  deriding  my  stipend,  though  how  it  can 
seem  small  in  the  eyes  of  a  gypsy " 

"Who  can  afford,"  broke  in  Babbie,  "to  give  Nanny 
seven  shillings  a  week?" 

"True,"  Gavin  said,  uncomfortably,  while  the  Egyp- 
tian again  toyed  with  her  ring.  She  was  too  impulsive 
to  be  reticent  except  now  and  then,  and  suddenly  she 
said,  "  You  have  looked  at  this  ring  before  now.  Do 
you  know  that  if  you  had  it  on  your  finger  you  would 
be  more  worth  robbing  than  with  eighty  pounds  in  each 
of  your  pockets?" 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  demanded  Gavin,  fiercely. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  told  you  that,"  the  gypsy  said,  regret- 
fully. 

"Tell  me  how  you  got  it,"  Gavin  insisted,  his  face 
now  hard. 

"Now,  you  see,  we  are  quarrelling." 

"I  must  know." 

"Must  know!  You  forget  yourself,"  she  said 
haughtily. 

"  No,  but  I  have  forgotten  myself  too  long.  Where 
did  you  get  that  ring?" 


168  tfbe  Xittie  Afnfeter. 

'  Good  afternoon  to  you,"  said  the  Egyptian,  lifting 
her  pans. 

"  It  is  not  good  afternoon,"  he  cried,  detaining  her. 
"  It  is  good-bye  for  ever,  unless  you  answer  me." 

"As  you  please,"  she  said.  "I  will  not  tell  you 
where  I  got  my  ring.  It  is  no  affair  of  yours." 

"Yes,  Babbie,  it  is." 

She  was  not,  perhaps,  greatly  grieved  to  hear  him 
say  so,  for  she  made  no  answer. 

"You  are  no  gypsy,"  he  continued,  suspiciously. 

"Perhaps  not,"  she  answered,  again  taking  the  pans. 

"This  dress  is  but  a  disguise." 

"  It  may  be.     Why  don't  you  go  away  and  leave  me?" 

"I  am  going,"  he  replied,  wildly.  "I  will  have  no 
more  to  do  with  you.  Formerly  I  pitied  you,  but " 

He  could  not  have  used  a  word  more  calculated  to 
rouse  the  Egyptian's  ire,  and  she  walked  away  with  her 
head  erect.  Only  once  did  she  look  back,  and  it  was 
to  say — 

"  This  is  prudence — now." 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

CIRCUMSTANCES  LEADING  TO  THE  FIRST  SERMON  IN 
APPROVAL  OF  WOMEN. 

A  YOUNG  man  thinks  that  he  alone  of  mortals  is  im- 
pervious to  love,  and  so  the  discovery  that  he  is  in  it 
suddenly  alters  his  views  of  his  own  mechanism.  It  is 
thus  not  unlike  a  rap  on  the  funny-bone.  Did  Gavin 
make  this  discovery  when  the  Egyptian  left  him? 
Apparently  he  only  came  to  the  brink  of  it  and 
stood  blind.  He  had  driven  her  from  him  for  ever, 
and  his  sense  of  loss  was  so  acute  that  his  soul 
cried  out  for  the  cure  rather  than  for  the  name  of  the 
malady. 

In  time  he  would  have  realised  what  had  happened, 
but  time  was  denied  him,  for  just  as  he  was  starting  for 
the  mud  house  Babbie  saved  his  dignity  by  returning 
to  him.  It  was  not  her  custom  to  fix  her  eyes  on  the 
ground  as  she  walked,  but  she  was  doing  so  now,  and 
at  the  same  time  swinging  the  empty  pans.  Doubtless 
she  had  come  back  for  more  water,  in  the  belief  that 
Gavin  had  gone.  He  pronounced  her  name  with  a' 
sense  of  guilt,  and  she  looked  up  surprised,  or  seem- 
ingly surprised,  to  find  him  still  there. 

"I  thought  you  had  gone  away  long  ago,**  she  said 
stiffly. 

"Otherwise,"  asked  Gavin  the  dejected,  "you  would 
not  have  come  back  to  the  well?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"  I  am  very  sorry.  Had  you  waited  another  moment 
I  should  have  been  gone." 


170  Sbe  Xittle  dfclnteter. 

This  was  said  in  apology,  but  the  wilful  Egyptian 
chose  to  change  its  meaning. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  blame  me  for  disturbing  you," 
she  declared  with  warmth. 

'•  I  did  not.     I  only " 

"  You  could  have  been  a  mile  away  by  this  time. 
Nanny  wanted  more  water. " 

Babbie  scrutinised  the  minister  sharply  as  she  made 
this  statement.  Surely  her  conscience  troubled  her, 
for  on  his  not  answering  immediately  she  said,  "  Do 
you  presume  to  disbelieve  me?  What  could  have  made 
me  return  except  to  fill  the  pans  again?" 

"  Nothing,"  Gavin  admitted  eagerly,  "and  I  assure 
you " 

Babbie  should  have  been  grateful  to  his  denseness, 
but  it  merely  set  her  mind  at  rest. 

"  Say  anything  against  me  you  choose,"  she  told  him. 
"Say  it  as  brutally  as  you  like,  for  I  won't  listen." 

She  stopped  to  hear  his  response  to  that,  and  she 
looked  so  cold  that  it  almost  froze  on  Gavin's  lips. 

"  I  had  no  right,"  he  said,  dolefully,  "  to  speak  to  you 
as  I  did." 

"You  had  not,"  answered  the  proud  Egyptian.  She 
was  looking  away  from  him  to  show  that  his  repentance 
was  not  even  interesting  to  her.  However,  she  had 
forgotten  already  not  to  listen. 

"What  business  is  it  of  mine?"  asked  Gavin,  amazed 
at  his  late  presumption,  "  whether  you  are  a  gypsy  or 
no?" 

"  None  whatever." 

"  And  as  for  the  ring " 

Here  he  gave  her  an  opportunity  of  allowing  that  his 
curiosity  about  the  ring  was  warranted.  She  declined 
to  help  him,  however,  and  so  he  had  to  go  on. 

"The  ring  is  yours,"  he  said,  "and  why  should  you 
not  wear  it?" 

"Why,  indeed?" 


f  n  approval  of  Idomen.  171 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  a  very  bad  temper. " 

He  paused  tor  a  contradiction,  but  she  nodded  hei 
head  in  agreement. 

"  And  it  is  no  wonder,"  he  continued,  "  that  you  think 
me  a — a  brute." 

"I'm  sure  it  is  not." 

"  But,  Babbie,  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  despise  my- 
self for  my  base  suspicions.  No  sooner  did  I  see  them 
than  I  loathed  them  and  myself  for  harbouring  them. 
Despite  this  mystery,  I  look  upon  you  as  a  noble-hearted 
girl.  I  shall  always  think  of  you  so." 

This  time  Babbie  did  not  reply. 

"That  was  all  I  had  to  say,"  concluded  Gavin,  "ex- 
cept that  I  hope  you  will  not  punish  Nanny  for  my  sins. 
Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,"  said  the  Egyptian,  who  was  looking  at 
the  well. 

The  minister's  legs  could  not  have  heard  him  give 
the  order  to  march,  for  they  stood  waiting. 

"I  thought,"  said  the  Egyptian,  after  a  moment, 
"that  you  said  you  were  going." 

"I  was  only — brushing  my  hat,"  Gavin  answered 
with  dignity.  "  You  want  me  to  go?" 

She  bowed,  and  this  time  he  did  set  off. 

"  You  can  go  if  you  like, "  she  remarked  now. 

He  turned  at  this. 

"  But  you  said "  he  began,  diffidently. 

"No,  I  did  not,"  she  answered,  with  indignation. 

He  could  see  her  face  at  last. 

"You — you  are  crying!"  he  exclaimed,  in  bewilder- 
ment. 

"  Because  you  are  so  unfeeling,"  sobbed  Babbie. 

"What  have  I  said,  what  have  I  done?"  cried  Gavin, 
in  an  agony  of  self-contempt.  "Oh,  that  I  had  gone 
away  at  once!" 

"That  is  cruel." 

"  What  is?" 


172  Cbc  Xittle  dbinfster. 

"To  say  that." 

"  What  did  I  say?" 

"  That  you  wished  you  had  gone  away. " 

"But  surely,"  the  minister  faltered,  "you  asked  me 
to  go." 

"  How  can  you  say  so?"   asked  the  gypsy,  reproach 
fully. 

Gavin  was  distracted.  "On  my  word,"  he  said, 
earnestly,  "  I  thought  you  did.  And  now  I  have  made 
you  unhappy.  Babbie,  I  wish  I  were  anybody  but  my- 
self;  I  am  a  hopeless  lout." 

"  Now  you  are  unjust,"  said  Babbie,  hiding  her  face. 

"Again?    To  you?" 

"No,  you  stupid,"  she  said,  beaming  on  him  in  her 
most  delightful  manner,  "to  yourself!" 

She  gave  him  both  her  hands  impetuously,  and  he 
did  not  let  them  go  until  she  added: 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  are  reasonable  at  last.  Men 
are  so  much  more  unreasonable  than  women,  don't  you 
Think?" 

"Perhaps  we  are,"  Gavin  said,  diplomatically. 

"Of  course  you  are.  Why,  every  one  knows  that. 
Well,  I  forgive  you ;  only  remember,  you  have  admitted 
that  it  was  all  your  fault?" 

She  was  pointing  her  finger  at  him  like  a  school- 
mistress, and  Gavin  hastened  to  answer — 

"You  were  not  to  blame  at  all." 

"I  like  to  hear  you  say  that,"  explained  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  more  reasonable  sex,  "  because  it  was 
really  all  my  fault." 

"No,  no." 

"  Yes,  it  was ;  but  of  course  I  could  not  say  so  until 
you  had  asked  my  pardon.  You  must  understand  that?" 

The  representative  of  the  less  reasonable  sex  could 
not  understand  it,  but  he  agreed  recklessly,  and  it 
seemed  so  plain  to  the  woman  that  she  continued  con- 
fidentially— 


In  approval  of  Wlomen.  173 

"  I  pretended  that  I  did  not  want  to  make  it  up,  but  I 
did." 

"Did  you?"  asked  Gavin,  elated. 

"  Yes,  but  nothing  could  have  induced  me  to  make 
the  first  advance.  You  see  why?" 

"  Because  I  was  so  unreasonable?"  asked  Gavin, 
doubtfully. 

"  Yes,  and  nasty.     You  admit  you  were  nasty?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  I  have  an  evil  temper.  It  has  brought 
me  to  shame  many  times." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  Egyptian,  charitably. 
"  I  like  it.  I  believe  I  admire  bullies." 

"  Did  I  bully  you?" 

"  I  never  knew  such  a  bully.  You  quite  frightened 
me." 

Gavin  began  to  be  less  displeased  with  himself. 

"You  are  sure,"  inquired  Babbie,  "that  you  had  no 
right  to  question  me  about  the  ring?" 

"Certain,"  answered  Gavin. 

"Then  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it,"  said  Babbie,  "for 
it  is  natural  that  you  should  want  to  know." 

He  looked  eagerly  at  her,  and  she  had  become  serious 
and  sad. 

"  I  must  tell  you  at  the  same  time,"  she  said,  "  who  I 
am,  and  then — then  we  shall  never  see  each  other  any 
more.  * 

"Why  should  you  tell  me?"  cried  Gavin,  his  hand 
rising  to  stop  her. 

"Because  you  have  a  right  to  know,"  she  replied, 
now  too  much  in  earnest  to  see  that  she  was  yielding  a 
point.  "  I  should  prefer  not  to  tell  you ;  yet  there  is 
nothing  wrong  in  my  secret,  and  it  may  make  you  think 
of  me  kindly  when  I  have  gone  away." 

"  Don't  speak  in  that  way,  Babbie,  after  you  have 
forgiven  me."  y 

"  Did  I  hurt  you?  It  was  only  because  I  know  that 
you  cannot  trust  me  while  I  remain  a  mystery.  I  know 


174  Obe  fctttle  /BMnteter. 

you  would  try  to  trust  me,  but  doubts  would  cross  your 
mind.  Yes,  they  would;  they  are  the  shadows  that 
mysteries  cast.  Who  can  believe  a  gypsy  if  the  odds 
are  against  her?" 

"  I  can,"  said  Gavin;  but  she  shook  her  head,  and  so 
would  he  had  he  remembered  three  recent  sermons  of 
his  own  preaching. 

"  I  had  better  tell  you  all,"  she  said,  with  an  effort. 

"It  is  my  turn  now  to  refuse  to  listen  to  you,"  ex- 
claimed Gavin,  who  was  only  a  chivalrous  boy.  "  Bab- 
bie, I  should  like  to  hear  your  story,  but  until  you  want 
to  tell  it  to  me  I  will  not  listen  to  it.  I  have  faith  in 
your  honour,  and  that  is  sufficient." 

It  was  boyish,  but  I  am  glad  Gavin  said  it;  and  now 
Babbie  admired  something  in  him  that  deserved  ad- 
miration. His  faith,  no  doubt,  made  her  a  better 
woman. 

" 1  admit  that  I  would  rather  tell  you  nothing  just 
now,"  she  said,  gratefully.  "You  are  sure  you  will 
never  say  again  that  you  don't  understand  me?" 

"Quite  sure, "said  Gavin,  bravely.  "And  by-and-by 
you  will  offer  to  tell  me  of  your  free  will?" 

"Oh,  don't  let  us  think  of  the  future,"  answered 
Babbie.  "  Let  us  be  happy  for  the  moment." 

This  had  been  the  Egyptian's  philosophy  always, 
but  it  was  ill-suited  for  Auld  Licht  ministers,  as  one  of 
them  was  presently  to  discover. 

"I  want  to  make  one  confession,  though,"  Babbie 
continued,  almost  reluctantly.  "When  you  were  so 
nasty  a  little  while  ago,  I  didn't  go  back  to  Nanny's. 
I  stood  watching  you  from  behind  a  tree,  and  then,  for 
an  excuse  to  come  back,  I — I  poured  out  the  water. 
Yes,  and  I  told  you  another  lie.  I  really  came  back  to 
admit  that  it  was  all  my  fault,  if  I  could  not  get  you  to 
sa}-  that  it  was  yours.  I  am  so  glad  you  gave  in  first. " 

She  was  very  near  him,  and  the  tears  had  not  yet 
dried  on  her  eyes.  They  were  laughing  eyes,  eyes  in 


•ffn  approval  of  Women.  175 

distress,  imploring  eyes.  Her  pale  face,  smiling,  sad, 
dimpled,  yet  entreating  forgiveness,  was  the  one  promi- 
nent thing  in  the,  world  to  him  just  then.  He  wanted 
to  kiss  her.  He  would  have  done  it  as  soon  as  her  eyes 
rested  on  hia,  but  she  continued  without  regarding 
Mm— 

"  How  mean  that  sounds !  Oh,  if  I  were  a  man  I 
should  wish  to  be  everything  that  I  am  not,  and  nothing 
chat  I  am.  I  should  scorn  to  be  a  liar,  I  should  choose 
to  be  open  in  all  things,  I  should  try  to  fight  the  world 
honestly.  But  I  am  only  a  woman,  and  so — well,  that 
is  the  kind  of  man  I  should  like  to  marry." 

"A  minister  may  be  all  these  things,"  said  Gavin, 
breathlessly. 

"The  man  I  could  love,"  Babbie  went  on,  not  heed- 
ing him,  almost  forgetting  that  he  was  there,  "must 
not  spend  his  days  in  idleness  as  the  men  I  know  do. " 

"I  do  not." 

"  He  must  be  brave,  no  mere  worker  among  others, 
but  a  leader  of  men." 

"  All  ministers  are. " 

"Who  makes  his  influence  felt." 

"  Assuredly. " 

"  And  takes  the  side  of  the  weak  against  the  strong, 
even  though  the  strong  be  in  the  right." 

"Always  my  tendency. " 

"  A  man  who  has  a  mind  of  his  own,  and  having  once 
made  it  up  stands  to  it  in  defiance  even  of— 

"Of  his  session." 

"Of  the  world.     He  must  understand  me." 

"I  do." 

"And  be  my  master." 

"  It  is  his  lawful  position  in  the  house." 

"  He  must  not  yield  to  my  coaxing  or  tempers." 

"  It  would  be  weakness. " 

"  But  compel  me  to  do  his  bidding ;  yes,  even  thrash 
me  if " 


176  Ebe  little  /Ifcfntster. 

"  If  you  won't  listen  to  reason.  Babbie, "  cried  Gavin, 
"I  am  that  man!" 

Here  the  inventory  abruptly  ended,  and  these  two 
people  found  themselves  staring  at  each  other,  as  if  of 
a  sudden  they  had  heard  something  dreadful.  I  do  not 
know  how  long  they  stood  thus,  motionless  and  horrified. 
I  cannot  tell  even  which  stirred  first.  All  I  know  is 
that  almost  simultaneously  they  turned  from  each  other 
and  hurried  out  of  the  wood  in  opposite  directions. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

END  OF  THE  STATE  OF  INDECISION. 

LONG  before  I  had  any  thought  of  writing  this  story, 
I  had  told  it  so  often  to  my  little  maid  that  she  now 
knows  some  of  it  better  than  I.  If  you  saw  me  looking 
up  from  my  paper  to  ask  her,  "  What  was  it  that  Birse 
said  to  Jean  about  the  minister's  flowers?"  or,  "  Where 
was  Hendry  Munn  hidden  on  the  night  of  the  riots?" 
and  heard  her  confident  answers,  you  would  conclude 
that  she  had  been  in  the  thick  of  these  events,  instead 
of  born  many  years  after  them.  I  mention  this  now 
because  I  have  reached  a  point  where  her  memory  con- 
tradicts mine.  She  maintains  that  Rob  Dow  was  told 
of  the  meeting  in  the  wood  by  the  two  boys  whom  it 
disturbed,  while  my  own  impression  is  that  he  was  a 
witness  of  it.  If  she  is  right,  Rob  must  have  succeeded 
in  frightening  the  boys  into  telling  no  other  person,  for 
certainly  the  scandal  did  not  spread  in  Thrums.  After 
all,  however,  it  is  only  important  to  know  that  Rob  did 
learn  of  the  meeting.  Its  first  effect  was  to  send  him 
sullenly  to  the  drink. 

Many  a  time  since  these  events  have  I  pictured  what 
might  have  been  their  upshot  had  Dow  confided  their 
discovery  to  me.  Had  I  suspected  why  Rob  was  grown 
so  dour  again,  Gavin's  future  might  have  been  very 
different.  I  was  meeting  Rob  now  and  again  in  the 
glen,  asking,  with  an  affected  carelessness  he  did  not 
bottom,  for  news  of  the  little  minister,  but  what  he  told 
me  was  only  the  gossip  of  the  town ;  and  what  I  should 
have  known,  that  Thrums  might  never  know  it,  he  kept 

12 


178  Cbe  Xittlc  /fcfnfster. 

to  himself.     I  suppose  he  feared  to  speak  to  Gavin,  who 
made  several  efforts  to  reclaim  him,  but  without  avail. 

Yet  Rob's  heart  opened  for  a  moment  to  one  man,  or 
rather  was  forced  open  by  that  man.  A  few  days  after 
the  meeting  at  the  well,  Rob  was  bringing  the  smell  of 
whisky  with  him  down  Banker's  Close  when  he  ran 
against  a  famous  staff,  with  which  the  doctor  pinned 
him  to  the  wall. 

"Ay,"  said  the  outspoken  doctor,  looking  contemptu- 
ously into  Rob's  bleary  eyes,  "so  this  is  what  your 
conversion  amounts  to?  Faugh!  Rob  Dow,  if  you 
were  half  a  man  the  very  thought  of  what  Mr.  Dishart 
has  done  for  you  would  make  you  run  past  the  public 
houses." 

"It's  the  thocht  o'  him  that  sends  me  running  to 
them,"  growled  Rob,  knocking  down  the  staff.  "Let 
me  alane." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  demanded  McQueen, 
hooking  him  this  time. 

"  Speir  at  himsel' ;  speir  at  the  woman." 

"What  woman?" 

"  Take  your  staff  out  o'  my  neck." 

"Not  till  you  tell  me  why  you,  of  all  people,  are 
speaking  against  the  minister." 

Torn  by  a  desire  for  a  confidant  and  loyalty  to  Gavin, 
Rob  was  already  in  a  fury. 

"Say  again,"  he  burst  forth,  "that  I  was  speaking 
agin  the  minister  and  I'll  practise  on  you  what  I'm 
awid  to  do  to  her." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  Wha's  wha?" 

"  The  woman  whom  the  minister—*-" 

"I  said  nothing  about  a  woman,"  said  poor  Rob, 
alarmed  for  Gavin.  "  Doctor,  I'm  ready  to  swear  afore 
a  bailie  that  I  never  saw  them  thegither  at  the  Kaims." 

"The  Kaims!"  exclaimed  the  doctor  suddenly  en- 
lightened. "Pooh!  you  only  mean  the  Egyptian. 


of  tbe  State  of  Unfrectefon.  17» 

Rob,  make  your  mind  easy  about  this.  I  know  why  he 
met  her  there. " 

"  Do  you  ken  that  she  has  bewitched  him;  do  you 
ken  I  saw  him  trying  to  put  his  arms  round  her;  do  you 
ken  they  have  a  trysting-place  in  Caddam  wood?" 

This  came  from  Rob  in  a  rush,  and  he  would  fain 
have  called  it  all  back. 

"I'm  drunk,  doctor,  roaring  drunk,"  he  said,  hastily, 
"  and  it  wasna  the  minister  I  saw  ava ;  it  was  another 
man." 

Nothing  more  could  the  doctor  draw  from  Rob,  but 
he  had  heard  sufficient  to  smoke  some  pipes  on.  Like 
many  who  pride  themselves  on  being  recluses,  McQueen 
loved  the  gossip  that  came  to  him  uninvited;  indeed, 
he  opened  his  mouth  to  it  as  greedily  as  any  man  in 
Thrums.  He  respected  Gavin,  however,  too  much  to 
find  this  new  dish  palatable,  and  so  his  researches  to 
discover  whether  other  Auld  Lichts  shared  Rob's  fears 
were  conducted  with  caution.  "  Is  there  no  word  of 
your  minister's  getting  a  wife  yet?"  he  asked  several, 
but  only  got  for  answers,  "  There's  word  o'  a  Glasgow 
leddy's  sending  him  baskets  o'  flowers,"  or  "  He  has 
his  een  open,  but  he's  taking  his  time;  ay,  he's  looking 
for  the  blade  o'  corn  in  the  stack  o'  chaff." 

This  convinced  McQueen  that  the  congregation  knew 
nothing  of  the  Egyptian,  but  it  did  not  satisfy  him,  and 
he  made  an  opportunity  of  inviting  Gavin  into  the 
surgery.  It  was,  to  the  doctor,  the  cosiest  nook  in  his 
house,  but  to  me  and  many  others  a  room  that  smelled 
of  hearses.  On  the  top  of  the  pipes  and  tobacco  tins 
that  littered  the  table  there  usually  lay  a  death  certifi- 
cate, placed  there  deliberately  by  the  doctor  to  scare  his 
sister,  who  had  a  passion  for  putting  the  surgery  to 
rights. 

"By  the  way,"  McQueen  said,  after  he  and  Gavin 
had  talked  a  little  while,  "did  I  ever  advise  you  to 
smoke?'* 


180  tfbe  Xfttle  flfcfnfster. 

"  It  is  your  usual  form  of  salutation,"  Gavin  answered, 
laughing.  "  But  I  don't  think  you  ever  supplied  me 
with  a  reason. " 

"  I  daresay  not.  I  am  too  experienced  a  doctor  to 
cheapen  my  prescriptions  in  that  way.  However,  here 
is  one  good  reason.  I  have  noticed,  sir,  that  at  your 
age  a  man  is  either  a  slave  to  a  pipe  or  to  a  woman. 
Do  you  want  me  to  lend  you  a  pipe  now?" 

"Then  I  am  to  understand,"  asked  Gavin,  slyly, 
"that  your  locket  came  into  your  possession  in  your 
pre-smoking  days,  and  that  you  merely  wear  it  from 
habit?" 

"  Tuts!"  answered  the  doctor,  buttoning  his  coat.  "  I 
told  you  there  was  nothing  in  the  locket.  If  there  is,  I 
have  forgotten  what  it  is. " 

"You  are  a  hopeless  old  bachelor,  I  see,"  said  Gavin, 
unaware  that  the  doctor  was  probing  him.  He  was 
surprised  next  moment  to  find  McQueen  in  the  ecstasies 
of  one  who  has  won  a  rubber. 

"  Now,  then,"  cried  the  jubilant  doctor,  "  as  you  have 
confessed  so  much,  tell  me  all  about  her.  Name  and 
address,  please." 

"Confess!     What  have  I  confessed?" 

"  It  won't  do,  Mr.  Dishart,  for  even  your  face  betrays 
you.  No,  no,  I  am  an  old  bird,  but  I  have  not  forgot- 
ten the  ways  of  the  fledgelings.  'Hopeless  bachelor, ' 
sir,  is  a  sweetmeat  in  every  young  man's  mouth  until 
of  a  sudden  he  finds  it  sour,  and  that  means  the  banns. 
When  is  it  to  be?" 

"We  must  find  the  lady  first,"  said  the  minister, 
uncomfortably. 

"  You  tell  me,  in  spite  of  that  face,  that  you  have  not 
fixed  on  her?" 

"  The  difficulty,  I  suppose,  would  be  to  persuade  her 
to  fix  on  me." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.     But  you  admit  there  is  some  one?" 

"Who  would  have  me?" 


of  tbc  State  of  UnDedsfo',.*  181 

"You  are  wriggling  out  of  it.  Is  it  the  banker's 
daughter?" 

"No,"  Gavin  cried. 

"  I  hear  you  have  walked  up  the  back  wynd  with  her 
three  times  this  week.  The  town  is  in  a  ferment  about 
it." 

"She  is  a  great  deal  in  the  back  wynd." 

"  Fiddle-de-dee !  I  am  oftener  in  the  back  wynd  than 
you,  and  I  never  meet  her  there." 

"  That  is  curious. " 

"No,  it  isn't,  but  never  mind.  Perhaps  you  have 
fallen  to  Miss  Pennycuick's  piano?  Did  you  hear  it 
going  as  we  passed  the  house?" 

"She  seems  always  to  be  playing  on  her  piano." 

"Not  she;  but  you  are  supposed  to  be  musical,  and 
so  when  she  sees  you  from  her  window  she  begins  to 
thump.  If  I  am  in  the  school  wynd  and  hear  the  piano 
going,  I  know  you  will  turn  the  corner  immediately. 
However,  I  am  glad  to  hear  it  is  not  Miss  Pennycuick. 
Then  it  is  the  factor  at  the  Spittal's  lassie?  Well  done, 
sir.  You  should  arrange  to  have  the  wedding  at  the 
same  time  as  the  old  earl's,  which  comes  off  in  sum- 
mer, I  believe." 

"One  foolish  marriage  is  enough  in  a  day,  doctor." 

"Eh?  You  call  him  a  fool  for  marrying  a  young 
\vifc?  Well,  no  doubt  he  is,  but  he  would  have  been  a 
bigger  fool  to  marry  an  old  one.  However,  it  is  not 
Lord  Rintoul  we  are  discussing,  but  Gavin  Dishart.  I 
suppose  you  know  that  the  factor's  lassie  is  an  heiress?" 

"And,  therefore,  would  scorn  me." 

"Try  her,"  said  the  doctor,  drily.  "Her  father  and 
mother,  as  I  know,  married  on  a  ten-pound  note.  But 
if  I  am  wrong  again,  I  must  adopt  the  popular  view  in 
Thrums.  It  is  a  Glasgow  lady  after  all?  Man,  you 
needn't  look  indignant  at  hearing  that  the  people  are 
discussing  your  intended.  You  can  no  more  stop  it 
than  a  doctor's  orders  could  keep  Lang  Tammas  out  of 


182  Sbe  little  /Minister. 

church.     They   have   discovered    that    she    sends  you 
flowers  twice  every  week. " 

"They  never  reach  me,"  answered  Gavin,  then  re- 
membered the  holly  and  winced. 

"Some,"  persisted  the  relentless  doctor,  "even  speak 
of  your  having  been  seen  together;  but  of  course,  if  she 
is  a  Glasgow  lady,  that  is  a  mistake." 

"  Where  did  they  see  us?"  asked  Gavin,  with  a  sudden 
trouble  in  his  throat. 

"You  are  shaking,"  said  the  doctor,  keenly,  "like  a 
medical  student  at  his  first  operation.  But  as  for  the 
story  that  you  and  the  lady  have  been  seen  together,  I 
can  guess  how  it  arose.  Do  you  remember  that  gypsy 
girl?" 

The  doctor  had  begun  by  addressing  the  fire,  but  he 
suddenly  wheeled  round  and  fired  his  question  in  the 
minister's  face.  Gavin,  however,  did  not  even  blink. 

"  Why  should  I  have  forgotten  her?"  he  replied, 
coolly. 

"  Oh,  in  the  stress  of  other  occupations.  But  it  was 
your  getting  the  money  from  her  at  the  Kaims  for 
Nanny  that  I  was  to  speak  of.  Absurd  though  it  seems, 
I  think  some  dotard  must  have  seen  you  and  her  at  the 
Kaims,  and  mistaken  her  for  the  lady." 

McQueen  flung  himself  back  in  his  chair  to  enjoy  this 
joke. 

"  Fancy  mistaking  that  woman  for  a  lady!"  he  said 
to  Gavin,  who  had  not  laughed  with  him. 

"I  think  Nanny  has  some  justification  for  considering 
her  a  lady,"  the  minister  said,  firmly. 

"  Well,  I  grant  that.  But  what  made  me  guffaw  was 
a  vision  of  the  harum-scarum,  devil-may-care  little 
Egyptian  mistress  of  an  Auld  Licht  manse!" 

"She  is  neither  harum-scarum  nor  devil-may-care," 
Gavin  answered,  without  heat,  for  he  was  no  longer  a 
distracted  minister.  "You  don't  understand  her  as  I 
do." 


of  tbe  State  of  UnOecfston.  183 

"'No,  I  seem  to  understand  her  differently." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  her?" 

"That is  just  it,"  said  the  doctor,  irritated  by  Gavin's 
coolness.  "  I  know  she  saved  Nanny  from  the  poor- 
house,  but  I  don't  know  where  she  got  the  money,  f. 
know  she  can  talk  fine  English  when  she  chooses,  but  I 
don't  know  where  she  learned  it.  I  know  she  heard 
that  the  soldiers  were  coming  to  Thrums  before  they 
knew  of  their  destination  themselves,  but  I  don't  know 
who  told  her.  You  who  understand  her  can  doubtless 
explain  these  matters?" 

"  She  offered  to  explain  them  to  me,"  Gavin  answered, 
still  unmoved,  "  but  I  forbade  her." 

"Why?" 

"  It  is  no  business  of  yours,  doctor.  Forgive  me  for 
saying  so." 

"In  Thrums,"  replied  McQueen,  "a  minister's  busi- 
ness is  everybody's  business.  I  have  often  wondered 
who  helped  her  to  escape  from  the  soldiers  that  night. 
Did  she  offer  to  explain  that  to  you?" 

"She  did  not." 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  doctor,  sharply,  "because  it  was 
unnecessary?" 

"That  was  the  reason." 

"  You  helped  her  to  escape?" 

"I  did." 

"  And  you  are  not  ashamed  of  it?" 

"  I  am  not." 

"  Why  were  you  so  anxious  to  screen  her?" 

"  She  saved  some  of  my  people  from  gaol." 

"Which  was  more  than  they  deserved." 

"  I  have  always  understood  that  you  concealed  two  of 
them  in  your  own  stable. " 

"Maybe  I  did,"  the  doctor  had  to  allow.  "But  I 
took  my  stick  to  them  next  morning.  Besides,  they 
were  Thrums  folk,  while  you  had  never  set  eyes  on 
that  imp  of  mischief  before," 


184  m>e  Xittle  /CMnteter. 

"I  cannot  sit  here,  doctor,  and  hear  her  called  names," 
Gavin  said,  rising,  but  McQueen  gripped  him  by  the 
shoulder. 

"  For  pity's  sake,  sir,  don't  let  us  wrangle  like  a  pair 
of  women.  I  brought  you  here  to  speak  my  mind  to 
you,  and  speak  it  I  will.  I  warn  you,  Mr.  Dishart, 
that  you  are  being  watched.  You  have  been  seen 
meeting  this  lassie  in  Caddam  as  well  as  at  the  Kaims." 

"  Let  the  whole  town  watch,  doctor.  I  have  met  her 
openly." 

"And  why?     Oh,  don't  make  Nanny  your  excuse." 

"  I  won't.     I  met  her  because  I  love  her." 

"Are  you  mad?"  cried  McQueen.  "You  speak  as  if 
you  would  marry  her. " 

"Yes,"  replied  Gavin,  determinedly,  "and  I  mean  to 
do  it." 

The  doctor  flung  up  his  hands. 

"I  give  you  up,"  he  said,  raging.  "I  give  you  up. 
Think  of  your  congregation,  man." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  them,  and  as  soon  as  I  have 
a  right  to  do  so  I  shall  tell  them  what  I  have  told  you." 

"  And  until  you  tell  them  I  will  keep  your  madness 
to  myself,  for  I  warn  you  that,  as  soon  as  they  do  know, 
there  will  be  a  vacancy  in  the  Auld  Licht  kirk  of 
Thrums." 

"She  is  a  woman,"  said  Gavin,  hesitating,  though 
preparing  to  go,  "  of  whom  any  minister  might  be 
proud." 

"She  is  a  woman,"  the  doctor  roared,  "that  no  con- 
gregation would  stand.  Oh,  if  you  will  go,  there  is 
your  hat." 

Perhaps  Gavin's  face  was  whiter  as  he  left  the  house 
than  when  he  entered  it,  but  there  was  no  other  change. 
Those  who  were  watching  him  decided  that  he  was 
looking  much  as  usual,  except  that  his  mouth  was  shut 
very  firm,  from  which  they  concluded  that  he  had  been 
taking  the  doctor  to  task  for  smoking.  They  also  noted 


Eno  of  tbc  State  of  Unoecision.  185 

that  he  returned  to  McQueen's  house  within  half  an 
hour  after  leaving  it,  but  remained  no  time. 

Some  explained  this  second  visit  by  saying  that  the 
minister  had  forgotten  his  cravat,  and  had  gone  back 
for  it.  What  really  sent  him  back,  however,  was  his 
conscience.  He  had  said  to  McQueen  that  he  helped 
Babbie  to  escape  from  the  soldiers  because  of  her  kind- 
ness to  his  people,  and  he  returned  to  own  that  it  was  a 
lie. 

Gavin  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  surgery,  but  entered 
without  waiting  for  a  response.  McQueen  was  no 
longer  stamping  through  the  room,  red  and  furious. 
He  had  even  laid  aside  his  pipe.  He  was  sitting  back 
in  his  chair,  looking  half -mournfully,  half -contempt- 
uously, at  something  in  his  palm.  His  hand  closed 
instinctively  when  he  heard  the  door  open,  but  Gavin 
had  seen  that  the  object  was  an  open  locket. 

"  It  was  only  your  reference  to  the  thing, "  the  detected 
doctor  said,  with  a  grim  laugh,  "  that  made  me  open  it. 

Forty  years  ago,  sir,  I Phew !  it  is  forty-two  years, 

and  I  have  not  got  over  it  yet."  He  closed  the  locket 
with  a  snap.  "  I  hope  you  have  come  back,  Dishart, 
to  speak  more  rationally?" 

Gavin  told  him  why  he  had  come  back,  and  the 
doctor  said  he  was  a  fool  for  his  pains. 

"  Is  it  useless,  Dishart,  to  make  another  appeal  to 
you?" 

"Quite  useless,  doctor,"  Gavin  answered,  promptly. 
"  My  mind  is  made  up  at  last" 


CHAPTER    XXI. 
NIGHT— MARGARET— FLASHING  OF  A   LANTERN. 

THAT  evening  the  little  minister  sat  silently  in  his 
parlour.  Darkness  came,  and  with  it  weavers  rose 
heavy-eyed  from  their  looms,  sleepy  children  sought 
their  mothers,  and  the  gate  of  the  field  above  the  manse 
fell  forward  to  let  cows  pass  to  their  byre;  the  great 
Bible  was  produced  in  many  homes,  and  the  ten  o'clock 
bell  clanged  its  last  word  to  the  night.  Margaret  had 
allowed  the  tamp  to  burn  low.  Thinking  that  her  boy 
slept,  she  moved  softly  to  his  side  and  spread  her  shawl 
over  his  knees.  He  had  forgotten  her.  The  doctor's 
warnings  scarcely  troubled  him.  He  was  Babbie's 
lover.  The  mystery  of  her  was  only  a  veil  hiding  her 
from  other  men,  and  he  was  looking  through  it  upon 
the  face  of  his  beloved. 

It  was  a  night  of  long  ago,  but  can  you  not  see  my 
dear  Margaret  still  as  she  bends  over  her  son?  Not 
twice  in  many  days  dared  the  minister  snatch  a  mo- 
ment's sleep  from  grey  morning  to  midnight,  and,  when 
this  did  happen,  he  jumped  up  by-and-by  in  shame,  to 
revile  himself  for  an  idler  and  ask  his  mother  wrathfully 
why  she  had  not  tumbled  him  out  of  his  chair?  To- 
night Margaret  was  divided  between  a  desire  to  let  him 
sleep  and  a  fear  of  his  self-reproach  when  he  awoke; 
and  so,  perhaps,  the  tear  fell  that  roused  him. 

"I  did  not  like  to  waken  you,"  Margaret  said,  ap- 
prehensively. "  You  must  have  been  very  tired,  Gavin?" 

"I  was  not  sleeping,  mother,"  he  said,  slowly.  "I 
was  only  thinking. " 


fl&argaret.  187 

"Ah,  Gavin,  you  never  rise  from  your  loom.  It  is 
hardly  fair  that  your  hands  should  be  so  full  of  other 
people's  troubles." 

"  They  only  fill  one  hand,  mother ;  I  carry  the  people's 
joys  in  the  other  hand,  and  that  keeps  me  erect,  like  a 
woman  between  her  pan  and  pitcher.  I  think  the  joys 
have  outweighed  the  sorrows  since  we  came  here." 

"  It  has  been  all  joy  to  me,  Gavin,  for  you  never  tell 
me  of  the  sorrows.  An  old  woman  has  no  right  to  be 
so  happy." 

"Old  woman,  mother!"  said  Gavin.  But  his  indig- 
nation was  vain.  Margaret  was  an  old  woman.  I 
made  her  old  before  her  time. 

"As  for  these  terrible  troubles,"  he  went  on,  "I  for- 
get them  the  moment  I  enter  the  garden  and  see  you  at 
your  window.  And,  maybe,  I  keep  some  of  the  joys 
from  )rou  as  well  as  the  troubles." 

Words  about  Babbie  leaped  to  his  mouth,  but  with 
an  effort  he  restrained  them.  He  must  not  tell  his 
mother  of  her  until  Babbie  of  her  free  will  had  told  him 
all  there  was  to  tell. 

"  I  have  been  a  selfish  woman,  Gavin." 

"You  selfish,  mother!"  Gavin  said,  smiling.  "Tell 
me  when  you  did  not  think  of  others  before  yourself?" 

"  Always,  Gavin.  Has  it  not  been  selfishness  to  hope 
that  you  would  never  want  to  bring  another  mistress 
to  the  manse?  Do  you  remember  how  angry  you  used 
to  be  in  Glasgow  when  I  said  that  you  would  marry 
some  day?" 

"I  remember,"  Gavin  said,  sadly. 

"Yes;  you  used  to  say, 'Don't  speak  of  such  a  thing, 
mother,  for  the  horrid  thought  of  it  is  enough  to  drive 
all  the  Hebrew  out  of  my  head. '  Was  not  that  light- 
ning just  now?" 

"  I  did  not  see  it.  What  a  memory  you  have,  mother, 
for  all  the  boyish  things  I  said. " 

"  I  can't  deny,"  Margaret  admitted  with  a  sigh,  "  that 


188  Ebe  Xftttc  dfctnteter. 

I  liked  to  hear  you  speak  in  that  way,  though  I  knew 
5rou  would  go  back  on  your  word.  You  see,  you  have 
changed  already." 

"How,  mother?"  asked  Gavin,  surprised. 

"  You  said  just  now  that  those  were  boyish  speeches. 
Gavin,  I  can't  understand  the  mothers  who  are  glad 
to  see  their  sons  married;  though  I  had  a  dozen  I 
believe  it  would  be  a  wrench  to  lose  one  of  them. 
It  would  be  different  with  daughters.  You  are  laugh- 
ing, Gavin!" 

"Yes,  at  your  reference  to  daughters.  Would  you 
not  have  preferred  me  to  be  a  girl?" 

"'Deed  I  would  not,"  answered  Margaret,  with  tre- 
mendous conviction.  "  Gavin,  every  woman  on  earth,  be 
she  rich  or  poor,  good  or  bad,  offers  up  one  prayer 
about  her  firstborn,  and  that  is,  'May  he  be  a  boy!' ' 

"  I  think  you  are  wrong,  mother.  The  banker's  wife 
told  me  that  there  is  nothing  for  which  she  thanks  the 
Lord  so  much  as  that  all  her  children  are  girls." 

"May  she  be  forgiven  for  that,  Gavin!"  exclaimed 
Margaret;  "though  she  maybe  did  right  to  put  the  best 
face  on  her  humiliation.  No,  no,  there  are  many  kinds 
of  women  in  the  world,  but  there  never  was  one  yet 
that  didn't  want  to  begin  with  a  laddie.  You  can  spec- 
ulate about  a  boy  so  much  more  than  about  a  girl. 
Gavin,  what  is  it  a  woman  thinks  about  the  day  her  son 
is  born?  yes,  and  the  day  before  too?  She  is  picturing 
him  a  grown  man,  and  a  slip  of  a  lassie  taking  him 
from  her.  Ay,  that  is  where  the  lassies  have  their  re- 
venge on  the  mothers.  I  remember  as  if  it  were  this 
morning  a  Harvie  fishwife  patting  your  head  and  asking 
who  was  your  sweetheart,  and  I  could  never  thole  the 
woman  again.  We  were  at  the  door  of  the  cottage,  and 
I  mind  I  gripped  you  up  in  my  arms.  You  had  on  a 
tartan  frock  with  a  sash  and  diamond  socks.  When  I 
look  back,  Gavin,  it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  shot  up 
from  that  frock  to  manhood  in  a  single  hour." 


flbaraaret.  189 

"There  are  not  many  mothers  like  you,"  Gavin  said, 
laying  his  hand  fondly  on  Margaret's  shoulder. 

"  There  are  many  better  mothers,  but  few  such  sons. 
It  is  easily  seen  why  God  could  not  afford  me  another. 
Gavin,  I  am  sure  that  was  lightning. " 

"  I  think  it  was;  but  don't  be  alarmed,  mother." 

u  I  am  never  frightened  when  you  are  with  me. " 

"  And  I  always  will  be  with  you. " 

"  Ah,  if  you  were  married " 

"Do  you  think,"  asked  Gavin,  indignantly,  "that  it 
would  make  any  difference  to  you?" 

Margaret  did  not  answer.  She  knew  what  a  differ- 
ence it  would  make. 

"  Except,"  continued  Gavin,  with  a  man's  obtuseness, 
"  that  you  would  have  a  daughter  as  well  as  a  son  to 
love  you  and  take  care  of  you. " 

Margaret  could  have  told  him  that  men  give  them- 
selves away  needlessly  who  marry  for  the  sake  of  their 
mother,  but  all  she  said  was — 

"Gavin,  I  see  you  can  speak  more  composedly  of 
marrying  now  than  you  spoke  a  year  ago.  If  I  did  not 
know  better,  I  should  think  a  Thrums  young  lady  had 
got  hold  of  you." 

It  was  a  moment  before  Gavin  replied ;  then  he  said, 
gaily— 

"  Really,  mother,  the  way  the  best  of  women  speak  of 
each  other  is  lamentable.  You  say  I  should  be  better 
married,  and  then  you  take  for  granted  that  every 
marriageable  woman  in  the  neighbourhood  is  trying 
to  kidnap  me.  I  am  sure  you  did  not  take  my  father 
by  force  in  that  way. " 

He  did  not  see  that  Margaret  trembled  at  the  mention 
of  his  father.  He  never  knew  that  she  was  many  times 
pining  to  lay  her  head  upon  his  breast  and  tell  him  of 
me.  Yet  I  cannot  but  believe  that  she  always  shook 
when  Adam  Dishart  was  spoken  of  between  them.  I 
cannot  think  that  the  long-cherishing  of  the  secret 


160  tCbe  fctttle 

which  was  hers  and  mine  kept  her  face  steady  when 
that  horror  suddenly  confronted  her  as  now.  Gavin 
would  have  suspected  much  had  he  ever  suspected  any- 
thing. 

"I  know,"  Margaret  said,  courageously,  "that  you 
would  be  better  married  ;  but  when  it  comes  to  selecting 
the  woman  I  grow  fearful.  O  Gavin!  "she  said,  ear- 
nestly, "it  is  an  awful  thing  to  marry  the  wrong  man!" 

Here  in  a  moment  had  she  revealed  much,  though 
far  from  all,  and  there  must  have  been  many  such  mo- 
ments between  them.  But  Gavin  was  thinking  of  his 
own  affairs. 

"You  mean  the  wrong  woman,  don't  you,  mother?" 
he  said,  and  she  hastened  to  agree.  But  it  was  the 
wrong  man  she  meant. 

"The  difficulty,  I  suppose,  is  to  hit  upon  the  right: 
one?"  Gavin  said,  blithely. 

"To  know  which  is  the  right  one  in  time,"  answered'. 
Margaret,  solemnly.  "  But  I  am  saying  nothing" 
against  the  young  ladies  of  Thrums,  Gavin.  Though 
I  have  scarcely  seen  them,  I  know  there  are  good 
women  among  them.  Jean  says " 

"  I  believe,  mother,"  Gavin  interposed,  reproachfully, 
"that  you  have  been  questioning  Jean  about  them?" 

"  Just  because  I  was  afraid — I  mean  because  I  fancied 
— you  might  be  taking  a  liking  to  one  of  them. " 

"And  what  is  Jean's  verdict?" 

"  She  says  every  one  of  them  would  jump  at  you,  like 
a  bird  at  a  berry." 

"  But  the  berry  cannot  be  divided.  How  would  Miss 
Pennycuick  please  you,  mother?" 

"Gavin!"  cried  Margaret,  in  consternation,  "you 
don't  mean  to But  you  are  laughing  at  me  again.'* 

"  Then  there  is  the  banker's  daughter?" 

"I  can't  thole  her." 

"Why,  I  question  if  you  ever  set  eyes  on  herv 
mother." 


191 

"  Perhaps  not,  Gavin ;  but  I  have  suspected  her  ever 
since  she  offered  to  become  one  of  your  tract  distribu- 
tors. " 

"The  doctor,"  said  Gavin,  not  ill-pleased,  "was  say- 
ing that  either  of  these  ladies  would  suit  me." 

"What  business  has  he,"  asked  Margaret,  vindic- 
tively, "to  put  such  thoughts  into  your  head?" 

"  But  he  only  did  as  you  are  doing.  Mother,  I  see 
you  will  never  be  satisfied  without  selecting  the  woman 
for  me  yourself." 

"Ay,  Gavin,"  said  Margaret,  earnestly;  "and  I  ques- 
tion if  I  should  be  satisfied  even  then.  But  I  am  sure 
I  should  be  a  better  guide  to  you  than  Dr.  McQueen  is." 

"  I  am  convinced  of  that.  But  I  wonder  what  sort  of 
woman  would  content  you?" 

"Whoever  pleased  you,  Gavin,  would  content  me," 
Margaret  ventured  to  maintain.  "  You  would  only  take 
to  a  clever  woman." 

"  She  must  be  nearly  as  clever  as  you,  mother." 

"Hoots,  Gavin,"  said  Margaret,  smiling,  "I'm  not 
to  be  caught  with  chaff.  I  am  a  stupid,  ignorant 
woman." 

"  Then  I  must  look  out  for  a  stupid,  ignorant  woman, 
for  that  seems  to  be  the  kind  I  like,"  answered  Gavin, 
of  whom  I  may  confess  here  something  that  has  to  be 
told  sooner  or  later.  It  is  this:  he  never  realised  that 
Babbie  was  a  great  deal  cleverer  than  himself.  Forgive 
him,  you  who  read,  if  you  have  any  tolerance  for  the 
creature,  man. 

"  She  will  be  terribly  learned  in  languages,"  pursued 
Margaret,  "  so  that  she  may  follow  you  in  your  studies, 
as  I  have  never  been  able  to  do." 

"Your  face  has  helped  me  more  than  Hebrew, 
mother,"  replied  Gavin.  "  I  will  give  her  no  marks  for 
languages." 

"At  any  rate,"  Margaret  insisted,  "she  must  be  a 
grand  housekeeper,  and  very  thrifty. " 


192  Sbe  Xfttle  /HMntster. 

"As  for  that,"  Gavin  said,  faltering  a  little,  "one 
can't  expect  it  of  a  mere  girl." 

"  I  should  expect  it,"  maintained  his  mother. 

"No,  no;  but  she  would  have  you,"  said  Gavin,  hap- 
pily, "to  teach  her  housekeeping." 

"It  would  be  a  pleasant  occupation  to  me,  that," 
Margaret  admitted.  "  And  she  would  soon  learn :  she 
would  be  so  proud  of  her  position  as  mistress  of  a 
manse." 

"  Perhaps,"  Gavin  said,  doubtfully.  He  had  no  doubt 
on  the  subject  in  his  college  days. 

"  And  we  can  take  for  granted, "  continued  his  mother, 
"that  she  is  a  lassie  of  fine  character." 

"Of  course,"  said  Gavin,  holding  his  head  high,  as 
if  he  thought  the  doctor  might  be  watching  him. 

"I  have  thought,"  Margaret  went  on,  "that  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  wisdom  in  what  you  said  at  that 
last  marriage  in  the  manse,  the  one  where,  you  remem- 
ber, the  best  man  and  the  bridesmaid  joined  hands  in- 
stead of  the  bride  and  bridegroom." 

"What  did  I  say?"  asked  the  little  minister,  with 
misgivings. 

"  That  there  was  great  danger  when  people  married 
out  of  their  own  rank  of  life. " 

"  Oh — ah — well,  of  course,  that  would  depend  on  cir- 
cumstances." 

"  They  were  wise  words,  Gavin.  There  was  the  ser- 
mon, too,  that  you  preached  a  month  or  two  ago  against 
marrying  into  other  denominations.  Jean  told  me  that 
it  greatly  impressed  the  congregation.  It  is  a  sad  sight, 
as  you  said,  to  see  an  Auld  Licht  lassie  changing  her 
faith  because  her  man  belongs  to  the  U.  P. 's." 

"  Did  I  say  that?" 

"  You  did,  and  it  so  struck  Jean  that  she  told  me  she 
would  rather  be  an  old  maid  for  life,  'the  which,'  she 
said,  'is  a  dismal  prospect,'  than  marry  out  of  the  Auld 
Licht  kirk." 


"  Perhaps  that  was  a  rather  narrow  view  I  took, 
mother.  After  all,  the  fitting  thing  is  that  the  wife 
should  go  with  her  husband;  especially  if  it  is  he 
that  is  the  Auld  Licht." 

"I  don't  hold  with  narrowness  myself,  Gavin,"  Mar- 
garet said,  with  an  effort,  "and  admit  that  there  are 
many  respectable  persons  in  the  other  denominations. 
But  though  a  weaver  might  take  a  wife  from  another 
kirk  without  much  scandal,  an  Auld  Licht  minister's 
madam  must  be  Auld  Licht  born  and  bred.  The  con- 
gregation would  expect  no  less.  I  doubt  if  they  would 
be  sure  of  her  if  she  came  from  some  other  Auld  Licht 
kirk.  'Deed,  though  she  came  from  our  own  kirk,  I'm 
thinking  the  session  would  want  to  catechise  her.  Ay, 
and  if  all  you  tell  me  of  Lang  Tammas  be  true  (for,  as 
you  know,  I  never  spoke  to  him),  I  warrant  he  would 
catechise  the  session." 

"I  would  brook  no  interference  from  my  session," 
said  Gavin,  knitting  his  brows,  "  and  I  do  not  consider 
it  necessary  that  a  minister's  wife  should  have  been 
brought  up  in  his  denomination.  Of  course  she  would 
join  it.  We  must  make  allowance,  mother,  for  the 
thousands  of  young  women  who  live  in  places  where 
there  is  no  Auld  Licht  kirk." 

"You  can  pity  them,  Gavin,"  said  Margaret,  "with- 
out marrying  them.  A  minister  has  his  congregation 
to  think  of." 

"  So  the  doctor  says,"  interposed  her  son. 

"Then  it  was  just  like  his  presumption!"  cried  Mar- 
garet. "A  minister  should  marry  to  please  himself." 

"Decidedly  he  should,"  Gavin  agreed,  eagerly,  "and 
the  bounden  duty  of  the  congregation  is  to  respect  and 
honour  his  choice.  If  they  forget  that  duty,  his  is  to 
remind  them  of  it." 

''Ah,  well,  Gavin, "said  Margaret,  confidently,  "your 
congregation  are  so  fond  of  you  that  your  choice  would 
doubtless  be  theirs.  Jean  tells  me  that  even  Lang 
13 


194  ttbe  OLittlc  /Minister. 

Tammas,  though  he  is  so  obstinate,  has  a  love  for  you 
passing  the  love  of  woman.  These  were  her  words. 
Jean  is  more  sentimental  than  you  might  think." 

"I  wish  he  would  show  his  love,"  said  Gavin,  "by 
contradicting  me  less  frequently." 

"  You  have  Rob  Dow  to  weigh  against  him. " 

"No;  I  cannot  make  out  what  has  come  over  Rob 
lately.  He  is  drinking  heavily  again,  and  avoiding 
me.  The  lightning  is  becoming  very  vivid." 

"  Yes,  and  I  hear  no  thunder.  There  is  another  thing, 
Gavin.  I  am  one  of  those  that  like  to  sit  at  home,  but 
if  you  had  a  wife  she  would  visit  the  congregation.  A 
truly  religious  wife  would  be  a  great  help  to  you." 

"Religious,"  Gavin  repeated  slowly.  "Yes,  but 
some  people  are  religious  without  speaking  of  it.  If  a 
woman  is  good  she  is  religious.  A  good  woman  who 
has  been,  let  us  say,  foolishly  brought  up,  only  needs 
to  be  shown  the  right  way  to  tread  it.  Mother,  I  ques- 
tion if  any  man,  minister  or  layman,  ever  yet  fell  in 
love  because  the  woman  was  thrifty,  or  clever,  or  went 
to  church  twice  on  Sabbath. " 

"  I  believe  that  is  true,"  Margaret  said,  "  and  I  would 
not  have  it  otherwise.  But  it  is  an  awful  thing,  Gavin, 
as  you  said  from  the  pulpit  two  weeks  ago,  to  worship 
only  at  a  beautiful  face." 

"  You  think  too  much  about  what  I  say  in  the  pulpit, 
mother,"  Gavin  said,  with  a  sigh,  "though  of  course  a 
man  who  fell  in  love  merely  with  a  face  would  be  a 
contemptible  creature.  Yet  I  see  that  women  do  not 
understand  how  beauty  affects  a  man." 

"Yes,  yes,  my  boy — oh,  indeed,  they  do,"  said  Mar- 
garet, who  on  some  matters  knew  far  more  than  her 
son. 

Twelve  o'clock  struck,  and  she  rose  to  go  to  bed, 
alarmed  lest  she  should  not  waken  early  in  the  morn- 
ing. "But  I  am  afraid  I  shan't  sleep,"  she  said,  "if 
that  lightning  continues." 


/Bargarct.  195 

"It  is  harmless,"  Gavin  answered,  going  to  the  win- 
dow. He  started  back  next  moment,  and  crying, 
"Don't  look  out,  mother,"  hastily  pulled  down  the 
blind. 

"Why,  Gavin,"  Margaret  said  in  fear,  "you  look  as 
if  it  had  struck  you." 

"Oh,  no,"  Gavin  answered,  with  a  forced  laugh,  and 
he  lit  her  lamp  for  her. 

But  it  had  struck  him,  though  it  was  not  lightning. 
It  was  the  flashing  of  a  lantern  against  the  window  to 
attract  his  attention,  and  the  holder  of  the  lantern  was 
Babbie. 

41  Good-night,  mother." 

"Good-night,  Gavin.     Don't  sit  up  any  later." 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

LOVERS. 

ONLY  something  terrible,  Gavin  thought,  could  have 
brought  Babbie  to  him  at  such  an  hour;  yet  when  he 
left  his  mother's  room  it  was  to  stand  motionless  on 
the  stair,  waiting  for  a  silence  in  the  manse  that  would 
not  come.  A  house  is  never  still  in  darkness  to  those 
who  listen  intently;  there  is  a  whispering  in  distant 
chambers,  an  unearthly  hand  presses  the  snib  of  the 
window,  the  latch  rises.  Ghosts  were  created  when 
the  first  man  woke  in  the  night. 

Now  Margaret  slept.  Two  hours  earlier,  Jean,  sit- 
ting on  the  salt-bucket,  had  read  the  chapter  with  which 
she  always  sent  herself  to  bed.  In  honour  of  the  little 
minister  she  had  begun  her  Bible  afresh  when  he  came 
to  Thrums,  and  was  progressing  through  it,  a  chapter 
at  night,  sighing,  perhaps,  on  washing  days  at  a  long 
chapter,  such  as  Exodus  twelfth,  but  never  making  two 
of  it.  The  kitchen  wag-at-the-wall  clock  was  telling 
every  room  in  the  house  that  she  had  neglected  to  shut 
her  door.  As  Gavin  felt  his  way  down  the  dark  stair, 
awakening  it  into  protest  at  every  step,  he  had  a  glimpse 
of  the  pendulum's  shadow  running  back  and  forward 
on  the  hearth ;  he  started  back  from  another  shadow  on 
the  lobby  wall,  and  then  seeing  it  start  too,  knew  it  for 
his  own.  He  opened  the  door  and  passed  out  unob- 
served; it  was  as  if  the  sounds  and  shadows  that  filled 
the  manse  were  too  occupied  with  their  game  to  mind 
an  interloper. 

"  Is  that  you?"  he  said  to  a  bush,  for  the  garden  was 


197 

in  semi-darkness.  Then  the  lantern's  flash  met  him, 
and  he  saw  the  Egyptian  in  the  summer-seat 

"At  last!"  she  said,  reproachfully.  "Evidently  a 
lantern  is  a  poor  door-bell. " 

"What  is  it?"  Gavin  asked,  in  suppressed  excitement, 
for  the  least  he  expected  to  hear  was  that  she  was  again 
being  pursued  for  her  share  in  the  riot.  The  tremor 
in  his  voice  surprised  her  into  silence,  and  he  thought 
she  faltered  because  what  she  had  to  tell  him  was  so 
woeful.  So,  in  the  darkness  of  the  summer-seat,  he 
kissed  her,  and  she  might  have  known  that  with  that 
kiss  the  little  minister  was  hers  forever. 

Now  Babbie  had  been  kissed  before,  but  never  thus, 
and  she  turned  from  Gavin,  and  would  have  liked  to  be 
alone,  for  she  had  begun  to  know  what  love  was,  and 
the  flash  that  revealed  it  to  her  laid  bare  her  own 
shame,  so  that  her  impulse  was  to  hide  herself  from 
her  lover.  But  of  all  this  Gavin  was  unconscious,  and 
he  repeated  his  question.  The  lantern  was  swaying  in 
her  hand,  and  when  she  turned  fearfully  to  him  its 
light  fell  on  his  face,  and  she  saw  how  alarmed  he  was. 

"I  am  going  away  back  to  Nanny's,"  she  said  sud- 
denly, and  rose  cowed,  but  he  took  her  hand  and  held 
her. 

"Babbie, "he  said,  huskily,  "tell  me  what  has  hap- 
pened to  bring  you  here  at  this  hour. " 

She  sought  to  pull  her  hand  from  him,  but  could  not. 

"  How  you  are  trembling !"  he  whispered.  "  Babbie, " 
he  cried,  "  something  terrible  has  happened  to  you,  but 
do  not  fear.  Tell  me  what  it  is,  and  then — then  I  will 
take  you  to  my  mother :  yes,  I  will  take  you  now. " 

The  Egyptian  would  have  given  all  she  had  in  the 
world  to  be  able  to  fly  from  him  then,  that  he  might 
never  know  her  as  she  was,  but  it  could  not  be,  and  so 
she  spoke  out  remorselessly  If  her  voice  had  become 
hard,  it  was  a  new-born  scorn  of  herself  that  made  it  so. 

"You  are  needlessly  alarmed,"  she  said;  "I  am  not 


198  Cbe  Xittle  flMnteter. 

at  all  the  kind  of  person  who  deserves  sympathy  or  ex- 
pects  it.  There  is  nothing  wrong.  I  am  staying  with 
Nanny  over-night,  and  only  came  to  Thrums  to  amuse 
myself.  I  chased  your  policeman  down  the  Roods  with 
my  lantern,  and  then  came  here  to  amuse  myself  with 
you.  That  is  all." 

"  It  was  nothing  but  a  love  of  mischief  that  brought  you 
here?"  Gavin  asked,  sternly,  after  an  unpleasant  pause. 

"Nothing,"  the  Egyptian  answered,  recklessly. 

"I  could  not  have  believed  this  of  you,"  the  minister 
said;  "  I  am  ashamed  of  you." 

"I  thought,"  Babbie  retorted,  trying  to  speak  lightly 
until  she  could  get  away  from  him,  "  that  you  would  be 
glad  to  see  me.  Your  last  words  in  Caddam  seemed  to 
justify  that  idea." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  see  you,"  he  answered,  reproach- 
fully. 

"Then  I  will  go  away  at  one,"  she  said,  stepping  out 
of  the  summer-seat. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "you  must  go  at  once." 

"Then  I  won't,  y  she  said,  turning  back  defiantly. 
"  I  know  what  you  are  to  say :  that  the  Thrums  people 
would  be  shocked  if  they  knew  I  was  here ;  as  if  I  cared 
what  the  Thrums  people  think  of  me." 

"  I  care  what  they  think  of  you, "  Gavin  said,  as  if 
that  were  decisive,  "  and  I  tell  you  I  will  not  allow  you 
to  repeat  this  freak. " 

"You  'will  not  allow  me,'"  echoed  Babbie,  almost 
enjoying  herself,  despite  her  sudden  loss  of  self-respect. 

"I  will  not,"  Gavin  said,  resolutely.  "Henceforth 
you  must  do  as  I  think  fit. " 

"  Since  when  have  you  taken  command  of  me?"  de- 
manded  Babbie. 

"  Since  a  minute  ago,"  Gavin  replied,  "  when  you  let 
me  kiss  you. " 

"  Let  you !"  exclaimed  Babbie,  now  justly  incensed. 
"You  did  it  yourself.  I  was  very  angry." 


Zovers.  199 

"  No,  you  were  not. " 

"I  am  not  allowed  to  say  that  even?"  asked  the 
Egyptian.  "  Tell  me  something  I  may  say,  then,  and 
I  will  repeat  it  after  you. " 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you, "  Gavin  told  her, 
after  a  moment's  reflection;  "yes,  and  there  is  some- 
thing I  should  like  to  hear  you  repeat  after  me,  but 
not  to-night." 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  what  it  is,"  Babbie  said,  quick- 
ly, but  she  knew  what  it  was,  and  even  then,  despite  the 
new  pain  at  her  heart,  her  bosom  swelled  with  pride 
because  this  man  still  loved  her.  Now  she  wanted  to 
run  away  with  his  love  for  her  before  he  could  take  it 
from  her,  and  then  realising  that  this  parting  must  be 
forever,  a  great  desire  filled  her  to  hear  him  put  that 
kiss  into  words,  and  she  said,  faltering: 

"You  can  tell  me  what  it  is  if  you  like." 

"  Not  to-night,"  said  Gavin. 

"To-night,  if  at  all,"  the  gypsy  almost  entreated. 

"To-morrow,  at  Nanny's,"  answered  Gavin,  deci- 
sively: and  this  time  he  remembered  without  dismay 
that  the  morrow  was  the  Sabbath. 

In  the  fairy  tale  the  beast  suddenly  drops  his  skin  and 
is  a  prince,  and  I  believed  it  seemed  to  Babbie  that  some 
such  change  had  come  over  this  man,  her  plaything. 

"Your  lantern  is  shining  on  my  mother's  window," 
were  the  words  that  woke  her  from  this  discovery,  and 
then  she  found  herself  yielding  the  lantern  to  him. 
She  became  conscious  vaguely  that  a  corresponding 
change  was  taking  place  in  herself. 

"You  spoke  of  taking  me  to  )'our  mother,"  she  said, 
bitterly. 

"Yes, "he  answered  at  once,  "to-morrow";  but  she 
shook  her  head,  knowing  that  to-morrow  he  would  be 
wiser. 

"  Give  me  the  lantern, "  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I 
am  going  back  to  Nanny's  now." 


200  Ebe  Xittle  Minister. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "we  must  set  out  now,  but  I  can 
carry  the  lantern." 

"You  are  not  coming  with  me!"  she  exclaimed,  shak- 
ing herself  free  of  his  hand. 

"I  am  coming,"  he  replied,  calmly,  though  he  was 
not  calm.  "Take  my  arm,  Babbie." 

She  made  a  last  effort  to  free  herself  from  bondage, 
crying  passionately,  "  I  will  not  let  you  come." 

"  When  I  say  I  am  coming,"  Gavin  answered  between 
his  teeth,  "  I  mean  that  I  am  coming,  and  so  let  that 
be  an  end  of  this  folly.  Take  my  arm." 

"  I  think  I  hate  you,"  she  said,  retreating  from  him. 

"Take  my  arm,"  he  repeated,  and,  though  her  breast 
was  rising  rebelliously,  she  did  as  he  ordered,  and  so 
he  escorted  her  from  the  garden.  At  the  foot  of  the 
field  she  stopped,  and  thought  to  frighten  him  by  say- 
ing, "  What  would  the  people  say  if  they  saw  you  with 
me  now?" 

"  It  does  not  much  matter  what  they  would  say,"  he 
answered,  still  keeping  his  teeth  together  as  if  doubtful 
of  their  courage.  "  As  for  what  they  would  do,  that  is 
certain ;  they  would  put  me  out  of  my  church. " 

"  And  it  is  dear  to  you?" 

"  Dearer  than  life." 

"You  told  me  long  ago  that  your  mother's  heart 
would  break  if " 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  it  would." 

They  had  begun  to  climb  the  fields,  but  she  stopped 
him  with  a  jerk. 

"Go  back,  Mr.  Dishart,"  she  implored,  clutching  his 
arm  with  both  hands.  "  You  make  me  very  unhappy 
for  no  purpose.  Oh,  why  should  you  risk  so  much  for 
me?" 

"  I  cannot  have  you  wandering  here  alone  at  mid- 
night," Gavin  answered,  gently. 

"That  is  nothing  to  me,"  she  said,  eagerly,  but  no 
longer  resenting  his  air  of  proprietorship. 


lovers.  201 

"You  will  never  do  it  again  if  I  can  prevent  it." 

"But  you  cannot,"  she  said,  sadly.  "Oh,  yes,  you 
can,  Mr.  Dishart.  If  you  will  turn  back  now  I  shall 
promise  never  to  do  anything  again  without  first  asking 
myself  whether  it  would  seem  right  to  you.  I  know  I 
acted  very  wrongly  to-night. " 

"Only  thoughtlessly,"  he  said. 

"Then  have  pity  on  me,"  she  besought  him,  " and  go 
back.  If  I  have  only  been  thoughtless,  how  can  yov 
punish  me  thus?  Mr.  Dishart,"  she  entreated,  her 
voice  breaking,  "  if  you  were  to  suffer  for  this  folly  of 
mine,  do  you  think  I  could  live?" 

"We  are  in  God's  hands,  dear,"  he  answered,  firmly, 
and  he  again  drew  her  arm  to  him.  So  they  climbed 
the  first  field,  and  were  almost  at  the  hill  before  either 
spoke  again. 

"Stop,"  Babbie  whispered,  crouching  as  she  spoke; 
'*  I  see  some  one  crossing  the  hill. " 

"I  have  seen  him  for  some  time,"  Gavin  answered, 
quietly;  "but  I  am  doing  no  wrong,  and  I  will  not 
hide." 

The  Egyptian  had  to  walk  on  with  him,  and  I  sup- 
pose she  did  not  think  the  less  of  him  for  that.  Yet 
she  said,  warningly — 

"  If  he  sees  you,  all  Thrums  will  be  in  an  uproar  be- 
fore morning." 

"  I  cannot  help  that,"  Gavin  replied.  "  It  is  the  will 
of  God. " 

"  To  ruin  you  for  my  sins?" 

"If  He  thinks  fit." 

The  figure  drew  nearer,  and  with  every  step  Babbie's 
distress  doubled. 

"We  are  walking  straight  to  him,"  she  whispered. 
"  I  implore  you  to  wait  here  until  he  passes,  if  not  for 
your  own  sake,  for  your  mother's." 

At  that  he  wavered,  and  she  heard  his  teeth  sliding 
against  each  other,  as  if  he  could  no  longer  clench  them. 


202  Cbe  2-ittle  Minister. 

"But,  no,"  he  said  moving  on  again,  "I  will  not  be 
a  skulker  from  any  man.  If  it  be  God's  wish  that  I 
should  suffer  for  this,  I  must  suffer. " 

"  Oh,  why,"  cried  Babbie,  beating  her  hands  together 
in  grief,  "should  you  suffer  for  me?" 

"You  are  mine,"  Gavin  answered.  Babbie  gasped. 
"And  if  you  act  foolishly,"  he  continued,  "it  is  right 
that  I  should  bear  the  brunt  of  it.  No,  I  will  not  let 
you  go  on  alone ;  you  are  not  fit  to  be  alone.  You  need 
some  one  to  watch  over  you  and  care  for  you  and  love 
you,  and,  if  need  be,  to  suffer  with  you." 

"  Turn  back,  dear,  before  he  sees  us. " 

"  He  has  seen  us." 

Yes,  I  had  seen  them,  for  the  figure  on  the  hill  was 
no  other  than  the  dominie  of  Glen  Quharity.  The 
park  gate  clicked  as  it  swung  to,  and  I  looked  up  and 
saw  Gavin  and  the  Egyptian.  My  eyes  should  have 
found  them  sooner,  but  it  was  to  gaze  upon  Margaret's 
home,  while  no  one  saw  me,  that  I  had  trudged  into 
Thrums  so  late,  and  by  that  time,  I  suppose,  my  eyes 
were  of  little  service  for  seeing  through.  Yet,  when  I 
knew  that  of  these  two  people  suddenly  beside  me  on 
the  hill  one  was  the  little  minister  and  the  other  a 
strange  woman,  I  fell  back  from  their  side  with  dread 
before  I  could  step  forward  and  cry  "  Gavin!" 

"I  am  Mr.  Dishart,"  he  answered,  with  a  composure 
that  would  not  have  served  him  for  another  sentence. 
He  was  more  excited  than  I,  for  the  "  Gavin"  fell  harm- 
lessly on  him,  while  I  had  no  sooner  uttered  it  than 
there  rushed  through  me  the  shame  of  being  false  to 
Margaret.  It  was  the  only  time  in  my  life  that  I  for- 
got her  in  him,  though  he  has  ever  stood  next  to  her  in 
my  regard. 

I  looked  from  Gavin  to  the  gypsy  woman,  and  again 
from  her  to  him,  and  she  began  to  tell  a  lie  in  his 
interest.  But  she  got  no  farther  than  "  I  met  Mr.  Dis- 
hart accid "  when  she  stopped,  ashamed.  It  was 


Xovera.  203 

reverence  for  Gavin  that  checked  the  lie.     Not  every 
man  has  had  such  a  compliment  paid  him. 

"It  is  natural,"  Gavin  said,  slowly,  "that  you,  sir, 
should  wonder  why  I  am  here  with  this  woman  at  such 
an  hour,  and  you  may  know  me  so  little  as  to  think  ill 
of  me  for  it. " 

I  did  not  answer,  and  he  misunderstood  my  silence. 

"No,"  he  continued,  in  a  harder  voice,  as  if  I  had 
asked  him  a  question,  "  I  will  explain  nothing  to  you. 
You  are  not  my  judge.  If  you  would  do  me  harm,  sir, 
you  have  it  in  your  power. " 

It  was  with  these  cruel  words  that  Gavin  addressed 
me.  He  did  not  know  how  cruel  they  were.  The 
Egyptian,  I  think,  must  have  seen  that  his  suspicions 
hurt  me,  for  she  said,  softly,  with  a  look  of  appeal  in 
her  eyes — 

"You  are  the  schoolmaster  in  Glen  Quharity?  Then 
you  will  perhaps  save  Mr.  Dishart  the  trouble  of  com- 
ing farther  by  showing  me  the  way  to  old  Nanny 
Webster's  house  at  Windyghoul?" 

"  I  have  to  pass  the  house  at  any  rate, "  I  answered 
eagerly,  and  she  came  quickly  to  my  side. 

I  knew,  though  in  the  darkness  I  could  see  but 
vaguely,  that  Gavin  was  holding  his  head  high  and 
waiting  for  me  to  say  my  worst.  I  had  not  told  him 
that  I  dared  think  no  evil  of  him,  and  he  still  suspected 
me.  Now  I  would  not  trust  myself  to  speak  lest  I 
should  betray  Margaret,  and  yet  I  wanted  him  to  know 
that  base  doubts  about  him  could  never  find  a  shelter  in 
me.  I  am  a  timid  man  who  long  ago  lost  the  glory  of 
my  life  by  it,  and  I  was  again  timid  when  I  sought  to 
let  Gavin  see  that  my  faith  in  him  was  unshaken.  I 
lifted  my  bonnet  to  the  gypsy,  and  asked  her  to  take 
my  arm.  It  was  done  clumsily,  I  cannot  doubt,  but  he 
read  my  meaning  and  held  out  his  hand  to  me.  I  had 
not  touched  it  since  he  was  three  years  old,  and  I  trem- 
bled too  much  to  give  it  the  grasp  I  owed  it.  He  and 


204  Sbe  Xittlc  fl&tnteter. 

I  parted  without  a  word,  but  to  the  Egyptian  he  said, 
"To-morrow,  dear,  I  will  see  you  at  Nanny's,"  and  he 
was  to  kiss  her,  but  I  pulled  her  a  step  farther  from 
him,  and  she  put  her  hands  over  her  face,  crying,  "  No, 
no!" 

If  I  asked  her  some  questions  between  the  hill  and 
Windyghoul  you  must  n^>t  blame  me,  for  this  was  my 
affair  as  well  as  theirs.  She  did  not  answer  me ;  I  know 
now  that  she  did  not  hear  me.  But  at  the  mud  house 
she  looked  abruptly  into  my  face,  and  said — 

"You  love  him,  too!" 

I  trudged  to  the  school-house  with  these  words  for 
company,  and  it  was  less  her  discovery  than  her  con- 
fession that  tortured  me.  How  much  I  slept  that  night 
you  may  guess. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

CONTAINS  A   BIRTH,   WHICH   IS  SUFFICIENT  FOR  ONE 
CHAPTER. 

"THE  kirk  bell  will  soon  be  ringing,"  Nanny  said  on 
the  following  morning,  as  she  placed  herself  carefully 
on  a  stool,  one  hand  holding  her  Bible  and  the  other 
wandering  complacently  over  her  aged  merino  gown. 
"Ay,  lassie,  though  3rou're  only  an  Egyptian  I  would 
hae  ta'en  you  wi'  me  to  hear  Mr.  Duthie,  but  it's  speir- 
ing  ower  muckle  o'  a  woman  to  expect  her  to  gang  to 
the  kirk  in  her  ilka  day  claethes. " 

The  Babbie  of  yesterday  would  have  laughed  at  this, 
but  the  new  Babbie  sighed. 

"  I  wonder  you  don't  go  to  Mr.  Dishart's  church  now, 
Nanny,"  she  said,  gently.  "  I  am  sure  you  prefer  him." 

"Babbie,  Babbie,"  exclaimed  Nanny,  with  spirit, 
"may  I  never  be  so  far  left  to  mysel*  as  to  change  my 
kirk  just  because  I  like  another  minister  better!  It's 
easy  seen,  lassie,  that  you  ken  little  o'  religious  ques- 
tions." 

"Very  little,"  Babbie  admitted,  sadly. 

"But  dinna  be  so  waeful  about  it,"  the  old  woman 
continued,  kindly,  "for  that's  no  nane  like  you.  Ay, 
and  if  you  see  muckle  mair  o'  Mr.  Dishart  he'll  soon 
cure  your  ignorance. " 

"  I  shall  not  see  much  more  of  him, "  Babbie  answered, 
with  averted  head. 

"The  like  o'  you  couldna  expect  it,"  Nanny  said, 
simply,  whereupon  Babbie  went  to  the  window.  "  I 
had  better  be  stepping,"  Nanny  said,  rising,  "for  I  am 


206  £be  Xittle  Minister. 

aye  late  unless  I'm  on  the  hill  by  the  time  the  bell  be- 
gins.  Ay,  Babbie,  I'm  doubting  my  merino's  no  sair 
in  the  fashion?" 

She  looked  down  at  her  dress  half  despondently,  and 
yet  with  some  pride. 

"  It  was  f owerpence  the  yard,  and  no  less, "  she  went 
on,  fondling  the  worn  merino,  "when  we  bocht  it  at 
Sam'l  Curr's.  Ay,  but  it  has  been  turned  sax  times 
since  syne." 

She  sighed,  and  Babbie  came  to  her  and  put  her 
arms  round  her,  saying,  "  Nanny,  you  are  a  dear. " 

"I'm  a  gey  auld-farrant-looking  dear,  I  doubt,"  said 
Nanny,  ruefully. 

"  Now,  Nanny,"  rejoined  Babbie,  "  you  are  just  want- 
ing me  to  flatter  you.  You  know  the  merino  looks  very 
nice." 

"It's  a  guid  merino  yet,"  admitted  the  old  woman, 
"  but,  oh,  Babbie,  what  does  the  material  matter  if  the 
cut  isna  fashionable?  It's  fine,  isn't  it,  to  be  in  the 
fashion?" 

She  spoke  so  wistfully  that,  instead  of  smiling,  Bab- 
bie kissed  her. 

"  I  am  afraid  to  lay  hand  on  the  merino,  Nanny,  but 
give  me  off  your  bonnet  and  I'll  make  it  ten  years 
younger  in  as  many  minutes." 

"Could  you?"  asked  Nanny,  eagerly,  unloosening  her 
bonnet-strings.  "Mercy  on  me!"  she  had  to  add;  "to 
think  about  altering  bonnets  oil  the  Sabbath-day! 
Lassie,  how  could  you  propose  sic  a  thing?" 

"Forgive  me,  Nanny,"  Babbie  replied,  so  meekly 
that  the  old  woman  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"I  dinna  understand  what  has  come  ower  you,"  she 
said.  "  There's  an  unca  difference  in  you  since  last  nicht. 
I  used  to  think  you  were  mair  like  a  bird  than  a  lassie, 
but  you've  lost  a'  your  daft  capers  o'  singing  and  lauch- 
ing,  and  I  take  ill  wi't.  Twa  or  three  times  I've  catched 
you  greeting.  Babbie,  what  has  come  ower  you?" 


Contains  a  .Ufrtb.  207 

" Nothing,  Nanny.     I  think  I  hear  the  bell." 

Down  in  Thrums  two  kirk-officers  had  let  their  bells 
loose,  waking  echoes  in  Windyghoul  as  one  dog  in 
country  parts  sets  all  the  others  barking,  but  Nanny 
did  not  hurry  off  to  church.  Such  a  surprising  notion 
had  filled  her  head  suddenly  that  she  even  forgot  to 
hold  her  dress  off  the  floor. 

"Babbie,"  she  cried,  in  consternation,  "dinna  tell 
me  you've  gotten  ower  fond  o'  Mr.  Dishart." 

"The  like  of  me,  Nanny!"  the  gypsy  answered,  with 
affected  raillery,  but  there  was  a  tear  in  her  eye. 

"It  would  be  a  wild,  presumptious  thing,"  Nanny 
said,  "  and  him  a  grand  minister,  but " 

Babbie  tried  to  look  her  in  the  face,  but  failed,  and 
then  all  at  once  there  came  back  to  Nanny  the  days 
when  she  and  her  lover  wandered  the  hill  together. 

"Ah,  my  dawtie,"  she  cried,  so  tenderly,  "what  does 
it  matter  wha  he  is  when  you  canna  help  it!" 

Two  frail  arms  went  round  the  Egyptian,  and  Babbie 
rested  her  head  on  the  old  woman's  breast.  But  do 
you  think  it  could  have  happened  had  not  Nanny  loved 
a  weaver  two-score  years  before? 

And  now  Nanny  has  set  off  for  church  and  Babbie  is 
alone  in  the  mud  house.  Some  will  pity  her  not  at  all, 
this  girl  who  was  a  dozen  women  in  the  hour,  and  all 
made  of  impulses  that  would  scarce  stand  still  to  be 
photographed.  To  attempt  to  picture  her  at  any  time 
until  now  would  have  been  like  chasing  a  spirit  that 
changes  to  something  else  as  your  arms  clasp  it;  yet 
she  has  always  seemed  a  pathetic  little  figure  to  me. 
If  I  understand  Babbie  at  all,  it  is,  I  think,  because  I 
loved  Margaret,  the  only  woman  I  have  ever  known 
well,  and  one  whose  nature  was  not,  like  the  Egyptian's, 
complex,  but  most  simple,  as  if  God  had  told  her  only 
to  be  good.  Throughout  my  life  since  she  came  into  it 
she  has  been  to  me  a  glass  in  which  many  things  are 
revealed  that  I  could  not  have  learned  save  through 


208  tfbe  Xittlc  /Minister. 

her,  and  something  of  all  womankind,  even  of  bewilder- 
ing Babbie,  I  seem  to  know  because  I  knew  Margaret. 

No  woman  is  so  bad  but  we  may  rejoice  when  her 
heart  thrills  to  love,  for  then  God  has  her  by  the  hand. 
There  is  no  love  but  this.  She  may  dream  of  what 
love  is,  but  it  is  only  of  a  sudden  that  she  knows. 
Babbie,  who  was  without  a  guide  from  her  baby  days, 
had  dreamed  but  little  of  it,  hearing  its  name  given  to 
another  thing.  She  had  been  born  wild  and  known  no 
home;  no  one  had  touched  her  heart  except  to  strike  it, 
she  had  been  educated,  but  never  tamed ;  her  life  had 
been  thrown  strangely  among  those  who  were  great  in 
the  world's  possessions,  but  she  was  not  of  them.  Her 
soul  was  in  such  darkness  that  she  had  never  seen  it; 
she  would  have  danced  away  cynically  from  the  belief 
that  there  is  such  a  thing,  and  now  all  at  once  she  had 
passed  from  disbelief  to  knowledge.  Is  not  love  God's 
doing?  To  Gavin  He  had  given  something  of  Himself, 
and  the  moment  she  saw  it  the  flash  lit  her  own  soul. 

It  was  but  little  of  his  Master  that  was  in  Gavin,  but 
far  smaller  things  have  changed  the  current  of  human 
lives;  the  spider's  thread  that  strikes  our  brow  on  a 
country  road  may  do  that.  Yet  this  I  will  say,  though 
I  have  no  wish  to  cast  the  little  minister  on  my  pages 
larger  than  he  was,  that  he  had  some  heroic  hours  in 
Thrums,  of  which  one  was  when  Babbie  learned  to  love 
him.  Until  the  moment  when  he  kissed  her  she  had 
only  conceived  him  a  quaint  fellow  whose  life  was  a 
string  of  Sundays,  but  behold  what  she  saw  in  him 
now.  Evidently  to  his  noble  mind  her  mystery  was 
only  some  misfortune,  not  of  her  making,  and  his  was 
to  be  the  part  of  leading  her  away  from  it  into  the  hap- 
piness of  the  open  life.  He  did  not  doubt  her,  for  he 
loved,  and  to  doubt  is  to  dip  love  in  the  mire.  She  had 
been  given  to  him  by  God,  and  he  was  so  rich  in  her 
possession  that  the  responsibility  attached  to  the  gift 
was  not  grievous.  She  was  his,  and  no  mortal  man 


Contains  a  3Birtb.  209 

could  part  them.  Those  who  looked  askance  at  her 
were  looking  askance  at  him ;  in  so  far  as  she  was  way- 
ward and  wild,  he  was  those  things;  so  long  as  she  re- 
mained strange  to  religion,  the  blame  lay  on  him. 

All  this  Babbie  read  in  the  Gavin  of  the  past  night, 
and  to  her  it  was  the  book  of  love.  What  things  she 
had  known,  said  and  done  in  that  holy  name!  How 
shamefully  have  we  all  besmirched  it !  She  had  only 
known  it  as  the  most  selfish  of  the  passions,  a  brittle 
image  that  men  consulted  because  it  could  only  answer 
in  the  words  they  gave  it  to  say.  But  here  was  a  man 
to  whom  love  was  something  better  than  his  own  desires 
leering  on  a  pedestal.  Such  love  as  Babbie  had  seen 
hitherto  made  strong  men  weak,  but  this  was  a  love 
that  made  a  weak  man  strong.  All  her  life,  strength 
had  been  her  idol,  and  the  weakness  that  bent  to  her 
cajolery  her  scorn.  But  only  now  was  it  revealed  to 
her  that  strength,  instead  of  being  the  lusty  child  of 
passions,  grows  by  grappling  with  and  throwing  them. 

So  Babbie  loved  the  little  minister  for  the  best  that 
she  had  ever  seen  in  man.  I  shall  be  told  that  she 
thought  far  more  of  him  than  he  deserved,  forgetting 
the  mean  in  the  worthy :  but  who  that  has  had  a  glimpse 
of  heaven  will  care  to  let  his  mind  dwell  henceforth  on 
earth?  Love,  it  is  said,  is  blind,  but  love  is  not  blind. 
It  is  an  extra  eye,  which  shows  us  what  is  most  worthy 
of  regard.  To  see  the  best  is  to  see  most  clearly,  and 
it  is  the  lover's  privilege. 

Down  in  the  Auld  Licht  kirk  that  forenoon  Gavin 
preached  a  sermon  in  praise  of  Woman,  and  up  in  the 
mudhouse  in  Windyghoul  Babbie  sat  alone.  But  it  was 
the  Sabbath  day  to  her:  the  first  Sabbath  in  her  life. 
Her  discovery  had  frozen  her  mind  for  a  time,  so  that 
she  could  only  stare  at  it  with  eyes  that  would  not  shut ; 
but  that  had  been  in  the  night.  Already  her  love 
seemed  a  thing  of  years,  for  it  was  as  old  as  herself,  as 
old  as  the  new  Babbie.  It  was  such  a  dear  delight  that 
14 


310  Ebe  Xittle  Minister. 

she  clasped  it  to  her,  and  exulted  over  it  because  it  was 
hers,  and  then  she  cried  over  it  because  she  must  give 
it  up. 

For  Babbie  must  only  look  at  this  love  and  then  turn 
from  it.  My  heart  aches  for  the  little  Egyptian,  but 
the  Promised  Land  would  have  remained  invisible  to 
her  had  she  not  realized  that  it  was  only  for  others. 
That  was  the  condition  of  her  seeing. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE  NEW  WORLD,   AND  THE  WOMAN  WHO  MAY  NOT 
DWELL  THEREIN. 

UP  here  in  the  glen  school-house  after  my  pupils  have 
straggled  home,  there  comes  to  me  at  times,  and  so  sud- 
den that  it  may  be  while  I  am  infusing  my  tea,  a  hot  de- 
sire to  write  great  books.  Perhaps  an  hour  afterwards 
I  rise,  beaten,  from  my  desk,  flinging  all  I  have  written 
into  the  fire  (yet  rescuing  some  of  it  on  second  thought), 
and  curse  myself  as  an  ingle-nook  man,  for  I  see  that 
one  can  only  paint  what  he  himself  has  felt,  and  in  my 
passion  I  wish  to  have  all  the  vices,  even  to  being  an 
impious  man,  that  I  may  describe  them  better.  For 
this  may  I  be  pardoned.  It  comes  to  nothing  in  the 
end,  save  that  my  tea  is  brackish. 

Yet  though  my  solitary  life  in  the  glen  is  cheating 
me  of  many  experiences,  more  helpful  to  a  writer  than 
to  a  Christian,  it  has  not  been  so  tame  but  that  I  can 
understand  why  Babbie  cried  when  she  went  into 
Nanny's  garden  and  saw  the  new  world.  Let  no  one 
who  loves  be  called  altogether  unhappy.  Even  love 
unreturned  has  its  rainbow,  and  Babbie  knew  that 
Gavin  loved  her.  Yet  she  stood  in  woe  among  the  stiff 
berry  bushes,  as  one  who  stretches  forth  her  hands  to 
Love  and  sees  him  looking  for  her,  and  knows  she  must 
shrink  from  the  arms  she  would  lie  in,  and  only  call  to 
him  in  a  voice  he  cannot  hear.  This  is  not  a  love  that 
is  always  bitter.  It  grows  sweet  with  age.  But  could 
that  dry  the  tears  of  the  little  Egyptian,  who  had  only 
been  a  woman  for  a  day? 


Cbe  Xfttlc  flBfnteter. 

Much  was  still  dark  to  her.  Of  one  obstacle  that 
must  keep  her  and  Gavin  ever  apart  she  knew,  and  he 
did  not;  but  had  it  been  removed  she  would  have  given 
herself  to  him  humbly,  not  in  her  own  longing,  but  be- 
cause  he  wanted  her.  "  Behold  what  I  am,"  she  could 
have  said  to  him  then,  and  left  the  rest  to  him,  believ- 
ing that  her  unworthiness  would  not  drag  him  down,  it 
would  lose  itself  so  readil)7  in  his  strength.  That 
Thrums  could  rise  against  such  a  man  if  he  defied  it, 
she  did  not  believe;  but  she  was  to  learn  the  truth 
presently  from  a  child. 

To  most  of  us,  I  suppose,  has  come  some  shock  that 
was  to  make  us  different  men  from  that  hour,  and  yet, 
how  many  days  elapsed  before  something  of  the  man 
we  had  been  leapt  up  in  us?  Babbie  thought  she  had 
buried  her  old  impulsiveness,  and  then  remembering 
that  from  £he  top  of  the  field  she  might  see  Gavin  re- 
turning from  church,  she  hastened  to  the  hill  to  look 
upon  him  from  a  distance.  Before  she  reached  the  gate 
where  I  had  met  her  and  him,  however,  she  stopped, 
distressed  at  her  selfishness,  and  asked  bitterly,  "  Why 
am  I  so  different  from  other  women ;  why  should  what 
is  so  easy  to  them  be  so  hard  to  me?" 

"Gavin,  my  beloved!"  the  Egyptian  cried  in  her 
agony,  and  the  wind  caught  her  words  and  flung  them 
in  the  air,  making  sport  of  her. 

She  wandered  westward  over  the  bleak  hill,  and  by- 
and-by  came  to  a  great  slab  called  the  Standing  Stone, 
on  which  children  often  sit  and  muse  until  they  see  gay 
ladies  riding  by  on  palfreys — a  kind  of  horse — and 
knights  in  glittering  armour,  and  goblins,  and  fiery 
dragons,  and  other  wonders  now  extinct,  of  which  bare- 
legged laddies  dream,  as  well  as  boys  in  socks.  The 
Standing  Stone  is  in  the  dyke  that  separates  the  hill 
from  a  fir  wood,  and  it  is  the  fairy-book  of  Thrums.  If 
you  would  be  a  knight  yourself,  you  must  sit  on  it  and 
whisper  to  it  your  desire. 


tTbc  Hew  laorlfr.  213 

Babbie  came  to  the  Standing  Stone,  and  there  was  a 
little  boy  astride  it.  His  hair  stood  up  through  holes 
in  his  bonnet,  and  he  was  very  ragged  and  miserable. 

"Why  are  you  crying,  little  boy?"  Babbie  asked  him, 
gently;  but  he  did  not  look  up,  and  the  tongue  was 
strange  to  him. 

"  How  are  you  greeting  so  sair?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  no  greeting  very  sair,"  he  answered,  turning 
his  head  from  her  that  a  woman  might  not  see  his  tears. 
"I'm  no  greeting  so  sair  but  what  I  grat  sairer  when 
my  mither  died." 

"  When  did  she  die?"  Babbie  inquired. 

"Lang  syne,"  he  answered,  still  with  averted  face. 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"  Micah  is  my  name.     Rob  Dow's  my  father." 

"And  have  you  no  brothers  nor  sisters?"  asked  Bab- 
bie, with  a  fellow-feeling  for  him. 

"  No,  juist  my  father,"  he  said. 

"  You  should  be  the  better  laddie  to  him  then.  Did 
your  mither  no  tell  you  to  be  that  afore  she  died?" 

"Ay,"  he  answered,  "she  telled  me  ay  to  hide  the 
bottle  frae  him  when  I  could  get  haed  o't.  She  took  me 
into  the  bed  to  make  me  promise  that,  and  syne  she  died. " 

"  Does  your  father  drina?" 

"He  hauds  mair  than  ony  other  man  in  Thrums," 
Micah  replied,  almost  proudly. 

"  And  he  strikes  you?"  Babbie  asked,  compassionately. 

"That's  a  lie,"  retorted  the  boy,  fiercely.  "Least- 
wise, he  doesna  strike  me  except  when  he's  mortal,  and 
syne  I  can  jouk  him." 

"What  are  you  doing  there?" 

"  I'm  wishing.     It's  a  wishing  stane." 

"You  are  wishing  your  father  wouldna  drink." 

"No,  I'm  no,"  answered  Micah.  "There  was  a  lang 
time  he  didna  drink,  but  the  woman  has  sent  him  to  it 
again.  It's  about  her  I'm  wishing.  I'm  wishing  she 
was  in  hell. " 


814  Obc  Efttlc  -flMnfster. 

"What  woman  is  it?"  asked  Babbie,  shuddering. 

"I  dinna  ken,"  Micah  said,  "but  she's  an  ill  ane." 

"  Did  you  never  see  her  at  your  father's  house?" 

"  Na;  if  he  could  get  grip  o'  her  he  would  break  her 
ower  his  knee.  I  hearken  to  him  sa)>ing  that,  when  he's 
wild.  He  says  she  should  be  burned  for  a  witch." 

"  But  if  he  hates  her, "  asked  Babbie,  "  how  can  she 
have  sic  power  ower  him?" 

"  It's  no  him  that  she  has  haud  o',"  replied  Micah, 
still  looking  away  from  her. 

"Whais  it  then?" 

"It's  Mr.  Dishart." 

Babbie  was  struck  as  if  by  an  arrow  from  the  wood. 
It  was  so  unexpected  that  she  gave  a  cry,  and  then  for 
the  first  time  Micah  looked  at  her. 

"  How  should  that  send  your  father  to  the  drink?" 
she  asked,  with  an  effort. 

"  Because  my  father's  michty  fond  o'  him,"  answered 
Micah,  staring  strangely  at  her;  "and  when  the  folk 
ken  about  the  woman,  they'll  stane  the  minister  out  o' 
Thrums." 

The  wood  faded  for  a  moment  from  the  Egyptian's 
sight.  When  it  came  back,  the  boy  had  slid  off  the 
Standing  Stone  and  was  stealing  away. 

"Why  do  you  run  frae  me?"  Babbie  asked,  patheti- 
cally. 

"I'm  fleid  at  you,"  he  gasped,  coming  to  a  standstill 
at  a  safe  distance:  "you're  the  woman!" 

Babbie  cowered  before  her  little  judge,  and  he  drew 
nearer  her  slowly. 

"What  makes  you  think  that?"  she  said. 

It  was  a  curious  time  for  Babbie's  beauty  to  be  paid 
its  most  princely  compliment. 

"Because  you're  so  bonny,"  Micah  whispered  across 
the  dyke.  Her  tears  gave  him  courage.  "  You  micht 
gang  awa,"  he  entreated.  "If  you  kent  what  a  differ 
Mr.  Dishart  made  in  my  father  till  you  came,  you  would 


tTbe  Hew  KBoria.  815 

maybe  gang  awa.  When  he's  roaring  fou  I  have  to 
sleep  in  the  wood,  and  it's  awfu'  cauld.  I'm  doubting 
he'll  kill  me,  woman,  if  you  dinna  gang  awa." 

Poor  Babbie  put  her  hand  to  her  heart,  but  the  inno- 
cent lad  continued  mercilessly — 

"  If  ony  shame  comes  to  the  minister,  his  auld 
mither'll  die.  How  have  you  sic  an  ill  will  at  the 
minister?" 

Babbie  held  up  her  hands  like  a  supplicant. 

"  I'll  gie  you  my  rabbit,"  Micah  said,  "  if  you'll  gang 
awa.  I've  juist  the  ane. "  She  shook  her  head,  and, 
misunderstanding  her,  he  cried,  with  his  knuckles  in 
his  eye,  "I'll  gie  you  them  baith,  though  I'm  michty 
sweer  to  part  wi'  Spotty." 

Then  at  last  Babbie  found  her  voice. 

"  Keep  your  rabbits,  laddie,"  she  said,  "and  greet  no 
more.  I'm  gaen  awa." 

"  And  you'll  never  come  back  no  more  a'  your  life?" 
pleaded  Micah. 

"  Never  no  more  a'  my  life,"  repeated  Babbie. 

"And  ye'll  leave  the  minister  alane  for  ever  and 
ever?" 

"  For  ever  and  ever. " 

Micah  rubbed  his  face  dry,  and  said,  "  Will  you  let  me 
stand  on  the  Standing  Stane  and  watch  you  gaen  awa 
for  ever  and  ever?" 

At  that  a  sob  broke  from  Babbie's  heart,  and  looking 
at  her  doubtfully  Micah  said — 

"  Maybe  you're  gey  ill  for  what  you've  done?" 

"Ay,"  Babbie  answered,  "  I'm  gey  ill  for  what  I've 
done." 

A  minute  passed,  and  in  her  anguish  she  did  not  know 
that  still  she  was  standing  at  the  dyke.  Micah's  voice 
roused  her: 

"You  said  you  would  gang  awa,  and  you're  no  gaen." 

Then  Babbie  went  away.  The  boy  watched  her  across 
the  hill.  He  climbed  the  Standing  Stone  and  gazed 


216  Ebe  Xittle  /flbiniater. 

after  her  until  she  was  but  a  coloured  ribbon  among  the 
broom.  When  she  disappeared  into  Windy  ghoul  he 
ran  home  joyfully,  and  told  his  father  what  a  good  day's 
work  he  had  done.  Rob  struck  him  for  a  fool  for  taking 
a  gypsy's  word,  and  warned  him  against  speaking  of 
the  woman  in  Thrums. 

But  though  Dow  believed  that  Gavin  continued  to 
meet  the  Egyptian  secretly,  he  was  wrong.  A  sum  ot 
nioney  for  Nanny  was  sent  to  the  minister,  but  he  could 
guess  only  from  whom  it  came.  In  vain  did  he  search 
for  Babbie.  Some  months  passed  and  he  gave  up  the 
search,  persuaded  that  he  should  see  her  no  more.  He 
went  about  his  duties  with  a  drawn  face  that  made  many 
folk  uneasy  when  it  was  stern,  and  pained  them  when  it 
tried  to  smile.  But  to  Margaret,  though  the  effort  was 
terrible,  he  was  as  he  had  ever  been,  and  so  no  thought 
of  a  woman  crossed  her  loving  breast 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

BEGINNING  OF  THE  TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS. 

I  CAN  tell  still  how  the  whole  of  the  glen  was  engaged 
about  the  hour  of  noon  on  the  fourth  of  August  month; 
a  day  to  be  among  the  last  forgotten  by  any  of  us, 
though  it  began  as  quietly  as  a  roaring  March.  At  the 
Spittal,  between  which  and  Thrums  this  is  a  halfway 
house,  were  gathered  two  hundred  men  in  kilts,  and 
many  gentry  from  the  neighboring  glens,  to  celebrate 
the  earl's  marriage,  which  was  to  take  place  on  the 
morrow,  and  thither,  too,  had  gone  many  of  my  pupils 
to  gather  gossip,  at  which  girls  of  six  are  trustier  hands 
than  boys  of  twelve.  Those  of  us,  however,  who  were 
neither  children  nor  of  gentle  blood,  remained  at  home, 
the  farmers  more  taken  up  with  the  want  of  rain,  now 
become  a  calamity,  than  with  an  old  man's  wedding, 
and  their  women-folk  wringing  their  hands  for  rain  also, 
yet  finding  time  to  marvel  at  the  marriage's  taking 
place  at  the  Spittal  instead  of  in  England,  of  which  the 
ignorant  spoke  vaguely  as  an  estate  of  the  bride's. 

For  my  own  part  I  could  talk  of  the  disastrous  drought 
with  Waster  Lunny  as  I  walked  over  his  parched  fields, 
but  I  had  not  such  cause  as  he  to  brood  upon  it  by  day 
and  night;  and  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  earl's  marriage 
were  for  discussing  at  a  tea-table,  where  there  were 
women  to  help  one  to  conclusions,  rather  than  for  the 
reflections  of  a  solitary  dominie,  who  had  seen  neither 
bride  nor  bridegroom.  So  it  must  be  confessed  that 
•when  I  might  have  been  regarding  the  sky  moodily,  or 
at  the  Spittal,  where  a  free  table  that  day  invited  all,  I 


218  tflbe  Xtttlc  /Sinister. 

was  sitting  in  the  school-house,  heeling  my  left  boot, 
on  which  I  have  always  been  a  little  hard. 

I  made  small  speed,  not  through  lack  of  craft,  but 
because  one  can  no  more  drive  in  tackets  properly  than 
take  cities  unless  he  gives  his  whole  mind  to  it;  and 
half  of  mine  was  at  the  Auld  Licht  manse.  Since  our 
meeting  six  months  earlier  on  the  hill  I  had  not  seen 
Gavin,  but  I  had,  heard  much  of  him,  and  of  a  kind  to- 
trouble  me. 

"  I  saw  nothing  queer  about  Mr.  Dishart, "  was  Wast- 
er Lunny's  frequent  story,  "till  I  hearkened  to  Els- 
peth  speaking  about  it  to  the  lasses  (for  I'm  the  last 
Elspeth  would  tell  onything  to,  though  I'm  her  man), 
and  syne  I  minded  I  had  been  noticing  it  for  months. 
Elspeth  says, "  he  would  go  on,  for  he  could  no  more 
forbear  quoting  his  wife  than  complaining  of  her,  "  that 
the  minister'll  listen  to  you  nowadays  wi'  his  een  glar- 
ing at  you  as  if  he  had  a  perfectly  passionate  interest 
in  what  you  were  telling  him  (though  it  may  be  only* 
about  a  hen  wi'  the  croup),  and  then,  after  all,  he  hasna 
heard  a  sylib.  Ay,  I  listened  to  Elspeth  saying  that, 
when  she  thocht  I  was  at  the  byre,  and  yet,  would  you 
believe  it,  when  I  says  to  her  after  lousing  time,  'I've 
been  noticing  of  late  that  the  minister  loses  what  a  body 
tells  him,'  all  she  answers  is  'Havers.'  Tod,  but 
women's  provoking." 

"I  allow,"  Birse  said,  "thr\t  on  the  first  Sabbath  o* 
June  month,  and  again  on  the  third  Sabbath,  he  poured 
out  the  Word  grandl)-,  but  I've  ta'en  note  this  curran 
Sabbaths  that  if  he's  no  michty  magnificent  he's  michty 
poor.  There's  something  damming  up  his  mind,  and 
when  he  gets  by  it  he's  a  roaring  water,  but  when  he 
doesna  he's  a  despizable  trickle.  The  folk  thinks  it's  a 
woman  that's  getting  in  his  way,  but  dinna  tell  me 
that  about  sic  a  scholar;  I  tell  }'ou  he  would  gang  ower 
a  toon  o'  women  like  a  loaded  cart  ower  new-laid 
stanes. " 


YOU    MIGHT   GANd    AWAV    HR   ENTHRATED. 


Gfee  GwentiKour  t>ours. 


Wearyworld  hobbled  after  me  up  the  Roods  one  day, 
pelting  me  with  remarks,  though  I  was  doing  my  best 
to  get  away  from  him.  "Even  Rob  Dow  sees  there's 
something  come  ower  the  minister,"  he  bawled,  "for 
Rob's  fou  ilka  Sabbath  now.  Ay,  but  this  I  will  say 
for  Mr.  Dishart,  that  he  aye  gies  me  a  civil  word,  " 
I  thought  I  had  left  the  policeman  behind  with  this, 
but  next  minute  he  roared,  "  And  whatever  is  the  matter 
wi'  him  it  has  made  him  kindlier  to  me  than  ever." 
He  must  have  taken  the  short  cut  through  Lunan's  close, 
for  at  the  top  of  the  Roods  his  voice  again  made  up  on 
me.  "  Dagone  you,  for  a  cruel  pack  to  put  your  fingers 
to  your  lugs  ilka  time  I  open  my  mouth." 

As  for  Waster  Lunny's  daughter  Easie,  who  got  her 
schooling  free  for  redding  up  the  school-house  and 
breaking  my  furniture,  she  would  never  have  been  off 
the  gossip  about  the  minister,  for  she  was  her  mother 
in  miniature,  with  a  tongue  that  ran  like  a  pump  after 
the  pans  are  full,  not  for  use  but  for  the  mere  pleasure 
of  spilling. 

On  that  awful  fourth  of  August  I  not  only  had  all 
this  confused  talk  in  my  head  but  reason  for  jumping 
my  mind  between  it  and  the  Egyptian  (as  if  to  catch 
them  together  unawares),  and  I  was  like  one  who,  with 
the  mechanism  of  a  watch  jumbled  in  his  hand,  could 
set  it  going  if  he  had  the  art. 

Of  the  gypsy  I  knew  nothing  save  what  I  had  seen 
that  night,  yet  what  more  was  there  to  learn?  I  was 
aware  that  she  loved  Gavin  and  that  he  loved  her.  A 
moment  had  shown  it  to  me.  Now  with  the  Auld 
Lichts,  I  have  the  smith's  acquaintance  with  his  irons, 
and  so  I  could  not  believe  that  they  would  suffer  their 
minister  to  marry  a  vagrant.  Had  it  not  been  for  this 
knowledge,  which  made  me  fearful  for  Margaret,  I 
would  have  done  nothing  to  keep  these  two  young  peo- 
ple apart.  Some  to  whom  I  have  said  this  maintain 
that  the  Egyptian  turned  my  head  at  our  first  meeting. 


220  Cbe  Xittle  flMnieter, 

Such  an  argument  is  not  perhaps  worth  controverting. 
I  admit  that  even  now  I  straighten  under  the  fire  of  a 
bright  eye,  as  a  pensioner  may  salute  when  he  sees  a 
young  officer.  In  the  shooting  season,  should  I  chance 
to  be  leaning  over  my  dyke  while  English  sportsmen 
pass  (as  is  usually  the  case  if  I  have  seen  them  approach- 
ing), I  remember  nought  of  them  save  that  they  call 
me  "she, "and  end  their  greetings  with  "whatever" 
(which  Waster  Lunny  takes  to  be  a  southron  mode  of 
speech),  but  their  ladies  dwell  pleasantly  in  my  memory, 
from  their  engaging  faces  to  the  pretty  crumpled  thing 
dangling  on  their  arms,  that  is  a  hat  or  a  basket,  I  am 
seldom  sure  which.  The  Egyptian's  beauty,  therefore, 
was  a  gladsome  sight  to  me,  and  none  the  less  so  that 
I  had  come  upon  it  as  unexpectedly  as  some  men  step 
into  a  bog.  Had  she  been  alone  when  I  met  her  I  can- 
not deny  that  I  would  have  been  content  to  look  on  her 
face,  without  caring  what  was  inside  it;  but  she  was 
with  her  lover,  and  that  lover  was  Gavin,  and  so  her 
face  was  to  me  as  little  for  admiring  as  this  glen  in  a 
thunderstorm,  when  I  know  that  some  fellow-creature 
is  lost  on  the  hills. 

If,  however,  it  was  no  quick  liking  for  the  gypsy  that 
almost  tempted  me  to  leave  these  two  lovers  to  each 
other,  what  was  it?  It  was  the  warning  of  my  own 
life.  Adam  Dishart  had  torn  my  arm  from  Margaret's, 
and  I  had  not  recovered  the  wrench  in  eighteen  years. 
Rather  than  act  his  part  between  these  two  I  felt  tempted 
to  tell  them,  "  Deplorable  as  the  result  may  be,  if  you 
who  are  a  minister  marry  this  vagabond,  it  will  be  still 
more  deplorable  if  you  do  not. " 

But  there  was  Margaret  to  consider,  and  at  thought 
of  her  I  cursed  the  Egyptian  aloud.  What  could  I  do 
to  keep  Gavin  and  the  woman  apart?  I  could  tell  him 
the  secret  of  his  mother's  life.  Would  that  be  sufficient? 
It  would  if  he  loved  Margaret,  as  I  did  not  doubt.  Pity 
for  her  would  make  him  undergo  any  torture  rather 


f)our0.  221 

than  she  should  suffer  again.  But  to  divulge  our  old 
connection  would  entail  her  discovery  of  me,  and  I 
questioned  if  even  the  saving  of  Gavin  could  destroy 
the  bitterness  of  that. 

I  might  appeal  to  the  Egyptian.  I  might  tell  her 
even  what  I  shuddered  to  tell  him.  She  cared  for  him, 
I  was  sure,  well  enough  to  have  the  courage  to  give 
him  up.  But  where  was  I  to  find  her  ? 

Were  she  and  Gavin  meeting  still?  Perhaps  the 
change  which  had  come  over  the  little  minister  meant 
that  they  had  parted.  Yet  what  I  had  heard  him  say 
to  her  on  the  hill  warned  me  not  to  trust  in  any  such 
solution  of  the  trouble. 

Boys  play  at  casting  a  humming-top  into  the  midst 
of  others  on  the  ground,  and  if  well  aimed  it  scatters 
them  prettily.  I  seemed  to  be  playing  such  a  game 
with  my  thoughts,  for  each  new  one  sent  the  others 
here  and  there,  and  so  what  could  I  do  in  the  end  but 
fling  my  tops  aside,  and  return  to  the  heeling  of  my 
boot? 

I  was  thus  engaged  when  the  sudden  waking  of  the 
glen  into  life  took  me  to  my  window.  There  is  seldom 
silence  up  here,  for  if  the  wind  be  not  sweeping  the 
heather,  the  Quharity,  that  I  may  not  have  heard  for 
days,  seems  to  have  crept  nearer  to  the  school-house  in 
the  night,  and  if  both  wind  and  water  be  out  of  earshot, 
there  is  the  crack  of  a  gun,  or  Waster  Lunny's  shepherd 
is  on  a  stone  near  at  hand  whistling,  or  a  lamb  is 
scrambling  through  a  fence,  and  kicking  foolishly  with 
its  hind  legs.  These  sounds  I  am  unaware  of  until 
they  stop,  when  I  look  up.  Such  a  stillness  was  broken 
now  by  music. 

From  my  window  I  saw  a  string  of  people  walking 
rapidly  down  the  glen,  and  Waster  Lunny  crossing  his 
potato-field  to  meet  them.  Remembering  that,  though 
I  was  in  my  stocking  soles,  the  ground  was  dry,  I  hast- 
ened to  join  tbe  farmer,  for  I  like  to  miss  nothing.  I 


222  £be  £fttle  .Minister. 

saw  a  curious  sight.  In  front  of  the  little  procession 
coming  down  the  glen  road,  and  so  much  more  impres- 
sive than  his  satellites  that  they  may  be  put  of  mind  as 
merely  ploughman  and  the  like  following  a  show,  was 
a  Highlander  that  I  knew  to  be  Lauchlan  Campbell, 
one  of  the  pipers  engaged  to  lend  music  to  the  earl's 
marriage.  He  had  the  name  of  a  thrawn  man  when 
sober,  but  pretty  at  the  pipes  at  both  times,  and  he 
came  marching  down  the  glen  blowing  gloriously,  as  if 
he  had  the  clan  of  Campbell  at  his  heels.  I  know  no 
man  who  is  so  capable  on  occasion  of  looking  like  twenty 
as  a  Highland  piper,  and  never  have  I  seen  a  face  in 
such  a  blaze  of  passion  as  was  Lauchlan  Campbell's 
that  day.  His  following  were  keeping  out  of  his  reach, 
jumping  back  every  time  he  turned  round  to  shake  his 
fist  in  the  direction  of  the  Spittal.  While  this  magnifi- 
cent man  was  yet  some  yards  from  us,  I  saw  Waster 
Lunny,  who  had  been  in  the  middle  of  the  road  to  ask 
questions,  fall  back  in  fear,  and  not  being  a  fighting 
man  myself,  I  jumped  the  dyke.  Lauchlan  gave  me  a 
look  that  sent  me  farther  into  the  field,  and  strutted 
past,  shrieking  defiance  through  his  pipes,  until  I  lost 
him  and  his  followers  in  a  bend  of  the  road. 

"That's  a  terrifying  spectacle,"  I  heard  Waster 
Lunny  say  when  the  music  had  become  but  a  distant 
squeal.  "You're  bonny  at  louping  dykes,  dominie, 
when  there  is  a  wild  bull  in  front  o'  you.  Na,  I  canna 
tell  what  has  happened,  but  at  the  least  Lauchlan  maun 
hae  dirked  the  earl.  Thae  loons  cried  out  to  me  as 
they  gaed  by  that  he  has  been  blawing  awa'  at  that 
tune  till  he  eanna  halt.  What  a  wind's  in  the  crittur! 
I'm  thinking  there's  a  hell  in  ilka  Highlandman." 

"Take  care  then,  Waster  Lunny,  that  you  dinna  licht 
it,"  said  an  angry  voice  that  made  us  jump,  though  it 
was  only  Duncan,  the  farmer's  shepherd,  who  spoke. 

"  I  had  forgotten  you  was  a  Highlandman  yoursel', 
Duncan,"  Waster  Lunny  said  nervously;  but  Elspeth, 


HE  CAME  MARCHING)   DOWN  THE   GLEN   BLOWING  GLORIOUSLY. 


Cwentt?sfour  fxwrs.  228 

who  had  come  to  us  unnoticed,  ordered  the  shepherd  to 
return  to  the  hillside,  which  he  did  haughtily. 

"  How  did  you  no  lay  haud  on  that  blast  o'  wind, 
Lauchlan  Campbell,"  asked  Elspeth  of  her  husband, 
"and  speir  at  him  what  had  happened  at  the  Spittal? 
A  quarrel  afore  a  marriage  brings  ill  luck." 

"I'm  thinking,"  said  the  farmer,  "that  Rintoul's 
making  his  ain  ill  luck  by  marrying  on  a  young  leddy." 

"A  man's  never  ower  auld  to  marry,"  said  Elspeth. 

"  No,  nor  a  woman, "  rejoined  Waster  Lunny,  "  when 
she  gets  the  chance.  But,  Elspeth,  I  believe  I  can 
guess  what  has  fired  that  fearsome  piper.  Depend  upon 
it,  somebody  has  been  speaking  disrespectful  about  the 
crittur's  ancestors." 

"His  ancestors!"  exclaimed  Elspeth,  scornfully. 
"I'm  thinking  mine  could  hae  bocht  them  at  a  crown 
the  dozen." 

"Hoots,"  said  the  farmer,  "you're  o'  a  weaving 
stock,  and  dinna  understand  about  ancestors.  Take  a 
stick  to  a  Highland  laddie,  and  it's  no  him  you  hurt, 
but  his  ancestors.  Likewise  it's  his  ancestors  that 
stanes  you  for  it.  When  Duncan  stalked  awa  the  now, 
what  think  you  he  saw?  He  saw  a  farmer's  wife  daur- 
ing  to  order  about  his  ancestors;  and  if  that's  the  way 
9fi'  a  shepherd,  what  will  it  be  wi'  a  piper  that  has  the 
kilts  on  him  a'  day  to  mind  him  o'  his  ancestors  ilka 
time  he  looks  down?" 

Elspeth  retired  to  discuss  the  probable  disturbance  at 
the  Spittal  with  her  family,  giving  Waster  Lunny  the 
opportunity  of  saying  to  me  impressively — 

"  Man,  man,  has  it  never  crossed  you  that  it's  a  queer 
thing  the  like  o'  you  and  me  having  no  ancestors?  Ay, 
we  had  them  in  a  manner  o'  speaking,  no  doubt,  but 
they're  as  completely  lost  sicht  o'  as  a  flagon  lid  that's 
fallen  ahint  the  dresser.  Hech,  sirs,  but  they  would 
need  a  gey  rubbing  to  get  the  rust  off  them  now.  I've 
been  thinking  that  if  I  was  to  get  my  laddies  to  say 


224  ttbe  Xittlc  /Minister. 

their  grandfather's  name  a  curran  times  ilka  day,  like 
the  Catechism,  and  they  were  to  do  the  same  wi'  their 
bairns,  and  it  was  continued  in  future  generations,  we 
micht  raise  a  fell  field  of  ancestors  in  time.  Ay,  but 
Elspeth  wouldna  hear  o't.  Nothing  angers  her  mair 
than  to  hear  me  speak  o'  planting  trees  for  the  benefit 
o'  them  that's  to  be  farmers  here  after  me;  and  as  for 
ancestors,  she  would  howk  them  up  as  quick  as  I  could 
plant  them.  Losh,  dominie,  is  that  a  boot  in  your 
hand?" 

To  my  mortification  I  saw  that  I  had  run  out  of  the 
school-house  with  the  boot  on  my  hand  as  if  it  were  a 
glove,  and  back  I  went  straightway,  blaming  myself  for 
a  man  wanting  in  dignity.  It  was  but  a  minor  trouble 
this,  however,  even  at  the  time;  and  to  recall  it  later  in 
the  day  was  to  look  back  on  happiness,  for  though  I  did 
not  know  it  yet,  Lauchlan's  playing  raised  the  curtain 
on  the  great  act  of  Gavin's  life,  and  the  twenty-four 
hours  had  begun,  to  which  all  I  have  told  as  yet  is  no 
more  than  the  prologue. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

SCENE  AT  THE   SPITTAL. 

WITHIN  an  hour  after  I  had  left  him,  Waster  Lunny 
walked  into  the  school-house  and  handed  me  his  snuff- 
mull,  which  I  declined  politely.  It  was  with  this  cere- 
mony that  we  usually  opened  our  conversations. 

"  I've  seen  the  post,"  he  said,  "and  he  tells  me  there 
has  been  a  queer  ploy  at  the  Spittal.  It's  a  wonder  the 
marriage  hasna  been  turned  into  a  burial,  and  all  be- 
cause o'  that  Highland  stirk,  Lauchlan  Campbell." 

Waster  Lunny  was  a  man  who  had  to  retrace  his  steps 
in  telling  a  story  if  he  tried  short  cuts,  and  so  my  cus- 
tom was  to  wait  patiently  while  he  delved  through  the 
ploughed  fields  that  always  lay  between  him  and  his 
destination. 

"As  you  ken,  Rintoul's  so  little  o'  a  Scotchman  that 
he's  no  muckle  better  than  an  Englisher.  That  maun 
be  the  reason  he  hadna  mair  sense  than  to  tramp  on  a 
Highlandman's  ancestors,  as  he  tried  to  tramp  on 
Lauchlan's  this  day." 

"If  Lord  Rintoul  insulted  the  piper,"  I  suggested, 
giving  the  farmer  a  helping  hand  cautiously,  "  it  would 
be  through  inadvertence.  Rintoul  only  bought  the 
Spittal  a  year  ago,  and  until  then,  I  daresay,  he  had 
seldom  been  on  our  side  of  the  Border." 

This  was  a  foolish  interruption,  for  it  set  Wastei 
Lunny  off  in  a  new  direction. 

"That's  what  Elspeth  says.  Says  she,  'When  tlit 
earl  has  grand  estates  in  England,  what  for  does  he 
come  to  a  barren  place  like  the  Spittal  to  be  married! 


223  Cbe  Xittle  Minister. 

It's  gey  like,'  she  says,  'as  if  he  wanted  the  marriage 
to  be  got  by  quietly;  a  thing,'  says  she,  'that  no  woman 
can  stand.  Furthermore,'  Elspeth  says,  'how  has  the 
marriage  been  postponed  twice?'  We  ken  what  the 
servants  at  the  Spittal  says  to  that,  namely,  that  the 
young  lady  is  no  keen  to  take  him,  but  Elspeth  winna 
listen  to  sic  arguments.  She  says  either  the  earl  had 
grown  timid  (as  mony  a  man  does)  when  the  wedding- 
day  drew  near,  or  else  his  sister  that  keeps  his  house  is 
mad  at  the  thocht  o*  losing  her  place;  but  as  for  the 
young  leddy's  being  sweer,  says  Elspeth,  fran  earl's  an 
earl  however  auld  he  is,  and  a  lassie's  a  lassie  however 
young  she  is,  and  weel  she  kens  you're  never  sure  o'  a 
man's  no  changing  his  mind  about  you  till  you're  tied 
to  him  by  law,  after  which  it  doesna  so  muckle  matter 
whether  he  changes  his  mind  about  you  or  no. '  Ay, 
there's  a  quirk  in  it  some  gait,  dominie;  but  it's  a  deep- 
water  Elspeth  canna  bottom." 

"  It  is, "  I  agreed ;  "  but  you  were  to  tell  me  what 
Birse  told  you  of  the  disturbance  at  the  Spittal." 

"Ay,  weel,"  he  answered,  "the  post  puts  the  witt. 
o't  on  her  little  leddyship,  as  they  call  her,  though  she 
winna  be  a  leddyship  till  the  morn.  All  I  can  say  is 
that  if  the  earl  was  saft  enough  to  do  sic  a  thing  out 
of  fondness  for  her,  it's  time  he  was  married  on  her, 
so  that  he  may  come  to  his  senses  again.  That's  what 
I  say ;  but  Elspeth  centers  me,  of  course,  and  says  she, 
'If  the  young  leddy  was  so  careless  o'  insulting  other 
folks'  ancestors,  it  proves  she  has  nane  o*  her  ain;  for 
them  that  has  china  plates  themsel's  is  the  maist  careful 
no  to  break  the  china  plates  of  others.' ' 

"  But  what  was  the  insult?    Was  Lauchlan  dismissed?" 

"  Na,  f  aags !  It  was  waur  than  that.  Dominie,  you  're 
dull  in  the  uptake  compared  to  Elspeth.  I  hadna  telled 
her  half  the  story  afore  she  jaloused  the  rest.  How- 
ever, to  begin  again ;  there's  great  feasting  and  rejoic- 
ings gaen  on  at  the  Spittal  the  now,  and  also  a  ban- 


Scene  at  tbe  Spittal.  327 

quet,  which  the  post  says  is  twa  dinners  in  OHC.  Weel, 
there's  a  curran  Ogilvys  among  the  guests,  and  it  was 
them  that  egged  on  her  little  leddyship  to  make  the  dar- 
ing proposal  to  the  earl.  What  was  the  proposal?  It 
was  no  less  than  that  the  twa  pipers  should  be  ordered 
to  play  'The  Bonny  House  o'  Airlie. '  Dominie,  I 
wonder  you  can  tak  it  so  calm  when  you  ken  that's  the 
Ogilvy's  sang,  and  that  it's  aimed  at  the  clan  o'  Camp- 
bell." 

"Pooh!"  I  said.  "The  Ogilvys  and  the  Campbells 
used  to  be  mortal  enemies,  but  the  feud  has  been  long 
forgotten." 

"Ay,  I've  heard  tell,"  Waster  Lunny  said  sceptically, 
"  that  Airlie  and  Argyle  shakes  hands  now  like  Chris- 
tians; but  I'm  thinking  that's  just  afore  the  Queen. 
Dinna  speak  now,  for  I'm  in  the  thick  o't.  Her  little 
leddyship  was  all  hinging  in  gold  and  jewels,  the  which 
winna  be  her  ain  till  the  morn;  and  she  leans  ower  to 
the  earl  and  whispers  to  him  to  get  the  pipers  to  play 
'The  Bonny  House.'  He  wasna  willing,  for  says  he, 
'There's  Ogilvys  at  the  table,  and  ane  o'  the  pipers  is 
a  Campbell,  and  we'll  better  let  sleeping  dogs  lie.' 
However,  the  Ogilvys  lauched  at  his  caution;  and  he 
was  so  infatuated  wi'  her  little  leddyship  that  he  gae 
in,  and  he  cried  out  to  the  pipers  to  strike  up  'The 
Bonny  House. ' ' 

Waster  Lunny  pulled  his  chair  nearer  me  and  rested 
his  hand  on  my  knees. 

"  Dominie,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  fell  now  and  again 
into  a  whisper,  "  them  looking  on  swears  that  when 
Lauchlan  Campbell  heard  these  monstrous  orders  his 
face  became  ugly  and  black,  so  that  they  kent  in  a  jiffy 
what  he  would  do.  It's  said  a'  body  jumped  back  frae 
him  in  a  sudden  dread,  except  poor  Angus,  the  other 
piper,  wha  was  busy  tuning  up  for  'The  Bonny  House.' 
Weel,  Angus  had  got  no  farther  in  the  tune  than  the 
first  skirl  when  Lauchlan  louped  at  him,  and  ripped 


228  Gbe  little  /BMnfster. 

up  the  startled  crittur's  pipes  wi'  his  dirk.  The  pipes 
gae  a  roar  o'  agony  like  a  stuck  swine,  and  fell  gasping 
on  the  floor.  What  happened  next  was  that  Lauchlan 
wi'  his  dirk  handy  for  onybody  that  micht  try  to  stop 
him,  marched  once  round  the  table,  playing  'The  Camp- 
bells are  Coming,'  and  then  straucht  out  o'  the  Spittal, 
his  chest  far  afore  him,  and  his  head  so  weel  back  that 
he  could  see  what  was  going  on  ahint.  Frae  the  Spittal 
to  here  he  never  stopped  that  fearsome  tune,  and  I'se 
warrant  he's  blawing  away  at  it  at  this  moment  through 
the  streets  o'  Thrums." 

Waster  Lunny  was  not  in  his  usual  spirits,  or  he  would 
have  repeated  his  story  before  he  left  me,  for  he  had 
usually  as  much  difficulty  in  coming  to  an  end  as  in 
finding  a  beginning.  The  drought  was  to  him  as  seri- 
ous a  matter  as  death  in  the  house,  and  as  little  to  be 
forgotten  for  a  lengthened  period. 

"  There's  to  be  a  prayer-meeting  for  rain  in  the  Auld 
Licht  kirk  the  night,"  he  told  me  as  I  escorted  him  as 
far  as  my  side  of  the  Quharity,  now  almost  a  dead 
stream,  pitiable  to  see,  "and  I'm  gaen;  though  I'm 
sweer  to  leave  thae  puir  cattle  o'  mine.  You  should 
see  how  they  look  at  me  when  I  gie  them  mair  o'  that 
rotten  grass  to  eat.  It's  eneuch  to  mak  a  man  greet, 
for  what  richt  hae  I  to  keep  kye  when  I  canna  meat 
them?" 

Waster  Lunny  has  said  to  me  more  than  once  that  the 
great  surprise  of  his  life  was  when  Elspeth  was  willing 
to  take  him.  Many  a  time,  however,  I  have  seen  that 
in  him  which  might  have  made  any  weaver's  daughter 
proud  of  such  a  man,  and  I  saw  it  again  when  we  came 
to  the  river  side. 

"I'm  no  ane  o'  thae  farmers,"  he  said,  truthfully, 
"that's  aye  girding  at  the  weather,  and  Elspeth  and 
me  kens  that  we  hae  been  dealt  wi'  bountifully  since  we 
took  this  farm  wi'  gey  anxious  hearts.  That  woman, 
dominie,  is  eneuch  to  put  a  brave  face  on  a  coward,  and 


Scene  at  tbe  Spittal.  229 

it's  no  langer  syne  than  yestreen  when  I  was  sitting  in 
the  dumps,  looking  at  the  aurora  borealis,  which  I 
canna  but  regard  as  a  messenger  o'  woe,  that  she  put  her 
hand  on  my  shoulder  and  she  says,  'Waster  Lunny, 
twenty  year  syne  we  began  life  thegither  wi'  nothing 
but  the  claethes  on  our  back,  and  an  it  please  God  we 
can  begin  it  again,  for  I  hae  you  and  you  hae  me,  and 
I'm  no  cast  down  if  you're  no.'  Dominie,  is  there 
mony  sic  women  in  the  warld  as  that?" 

"  Many  a  one,"  I  said. 

"  Ay,  man,  it  shamed  me,  for  I  hae  a  kind  o'  delight 
in  angering  Elspeth,  just  to  see  what  she'll  say.  I 
could  hae  ta'en  her  on  my  knee  at  that  minute,  but  the 
bairns  was  there,  and  so  it  wouldna  hae  dune.  But  I 
cheered  her  up,  for,  after  all,  the  drought  canna  put  us 
so  far  back  as  we  was  twenty  years  syne,  unless  it's  true 
what  my  father  said,  that  the  aurora  borealis  is  the 
devil's  rainbow.  I  saw  it  sax  times  in  July  month, 
and  it  made  me  shut  my  een.  You  was  out  admiring 
it,  dominie,  but  I  can  never  forget  that  it  was  seen  in 
the  year  twelve  just  afore  the  great  storm.  I  was  only 
a  laddie  then,  but  I  mind  how  that  awful  wind  stripped 
a'  the  standing  corn  in  the  glen  in  less  time  than  we've 
been  here  at  the  water's  edge.  It  was  called  the  deil's 
besom.  My  father's  hinmost  words  to  me  was,  'It's 
time  eneuch  to  greet,  laddie,  when  you  see  the  aurora 
borealis. '  I  mind  he  was  so  complete  ruined  in  an  hour 
that  he  had  to  apply  for  relief  frae  the  poor's  rates. 
Think  o'  that,  and  him  a  proud  man.  He  would  tak' 
nothing  till  one  winter  day  when  we  was  a'  starving, 
and  syne  I  gaed  wi'  him  to  speir  for't,  and  he  telled 
me  to  grip  his  hand  ticht,  so  that  the  cauldness  o'  mine 
micht  gie  him  courage.  They  were  doling  out  the 
charity  in  the  Town's  House,  and  I  had  never  beenin't 
afore.  I  canna  look  at  it  now  without  thinking  o'  that 
day  when  me  and  my  father  gaed  up  the  stair  thegither. 
Mr.  Duthie  was  presiding  at  the  time,  and  he  wasna 


880  tTbe  Xittte 

muckle  older  than  Mr.  Dishart  is  now.  I  mind  he 
speired  for  proof  that  we  was  needing,  and  my  father 
couldna  speak.  He  just  pointed  at  me.  'But  you 
have  a  good  coat  on  your  back  yoursel','  Mr.  Duthie 
said,  for  there  were  mony  waiting,  sair  needing.  'It 
was  lended  him  to  come  here, '  I  cried,  and  without  a 
word  my  father  opened  the  coat,  and  they  saw  he  had 
nothing  on  aneath,  and  his  skin  blue  wi  'cauld.  Dom- 
inie, Mr.  Duthie  handed  him  one  shilling  and  saxpence, 
and  my  father's  fingers  closed  greedily  on't  for  a  minute, 
and  syne  it  fell  to  the  ground.  They  put  it  back  in  his 
hand,  and  it  slipped  out  again,  and  Mr.  Duthie  gave 
it  back  to  him,  saying,  'Are  you  so  cauld  as  that?'  But, 
oh,  man,  it  wasna  cauld  that  did  it,  but  shame  o'  being 
on  the  rates.  The  blood  a*  ran  to  my  father's  head, 
and  syne  left  it  as  quick,  and  he  flung  down  the  siller 
and  walked  out  o'  the  Town  House  wi'  me  running 
after  him.  We  warstled  through  that  winter,  God  kens 
how,  and  it's  near  a  pleasure  to  me  to  think  o't  now,  for, 
rain  or  no  rain,  I  can  never  be  reduced  to  sic  straits 
again. " 

The  farmer  crossed  the  water  without  using  the  stilts 
which  were  no  longer  necessary,  and  I  little  thought, 
as  I  returned  to  the  school-house,  what  terrible  things 
were  to  happen  before  he  could  offer  me  his  snuff-mull 
again.  Serious  as  his  talk  had  been  it  was  neither  of 
drought  nor  of  the  incident  at  the  Spittal  that  I  sat 
down  to  think.  My  anxiety  about  Gavin  came  back  to 
me  until  I  was  like  a  man  imprisoned  between  walls  of 
his  own  building.  It  may  be  that  my  presentiments 
of  that  afternoon  look  gloomier  now  than  they  were, 
because  I  cannot  return  to  them  save  over  a  night  of 
agony,  black  enough  to  darken  any  time  connected  with 
it.  Perhaps  my  spirits  only  fell  as  the  wind  rose,  for 
wind  ever  takes  me  back  to  Harvie,  and  when  I  think 
of  Harvie  my  thoughts  are  of  the  saddest.  I  know  that 
I  sat  for  some  hours,  now  seeing  Gavin  pay  the  penalty 


Scene  at  tbe  SpittaL  381 

of  marrying  the  Egyptian,  and  again  drifting  back  to 
my  days  with  Margaret,  until  the  wind  took  to  playing 
tricks  with  me,  so  that  I  heard  Adam  Dishart  enter 
our  home  by  the  sea  every  time  the  school-house  door 
shook. 

I  became  used  to  the  illusion  after  starting  several 
times,  and  thus  when  the  door  did  open,  about  seven 
o'clock,  it  was  only  the  wind  rushing  to  my  fire  like  a 
shivering  dog  that  made  me  turn  my  head.  Then  I 
saw  the  Egyptian  staring  at  me,  and  though  her  sudden 
appearance  on  my  threshold  was  a  strange  thing,  I  for- 
got it  in  the  whiteness  of  her  face.  She  was  looking 
at  me  like  one  who  has  asked  a  question  of  life  or 
death,  and  stopped  her  heart  for  the  reply. 

"What  is  it?"  I  cried,  and  for  a  moment  I  believe  I 
was  glad  she  did  not  answer.  She  seemed  to  have  told 
me  already  as  much  as  I  could  bear. 

"  He  has  not  heard,"  she  said  aloud  in  an  expression- 
less voice,  and,  turning,  would  have  slipped  away  with- 
out another  word. 

"Is  any  one  dead?"  I  asked,  seizing  her  hands  and 
letting  them  fall,  they  were  so  clammy.  She  nodded, 
and  trying  to  speak  could  not. 

"He  is  dead,"  she  said  at  last  in  a  whisper.  "Mr. 
Dishart  is  dead,"  and  she  sat  down  quietly. 

At  that  I  covered  my  face,  crying,  "  God  help  Marga- 
ret!" and  then  she  rose,  saying  fiercely,  so  that  I  drew 
back  from  her,  "There  is  no  Margaret;  he  only  cared 
for  me." 

"She  is  his  mother,"  I  said  hoarsely,  and  then  she 
smiled  to  me,  so  that  I  thought  her  a  harmless  mad 
thing.  "  He  was  killed  by  a  piper  called  Lauchlan 
Campbell,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  me  suddenly.  "It 
was  my  fault. " 

"Poor  Margaret!"  I  wailed. 

"  And  poor  Babbie,"  she  entreated  pathetically;  "  will 
no  one  say,  'Poor  Babbie  '?  " 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

FIRST  JOURNEY  OF  THE  DOMINIE  TO  THRUMS  DURING 
THE  TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  I  asked  more  than  once,  but 
the  Egyptian  was  only  with  me  in  the  body,  and  she 
did  not  hear.  I  might  have  been  talking  to  some  one  a 
mile  away  whom  a  telescope  had  drawn  near  my  eyes. 

When  I  put  on  my  bonnet,  however,  she  knew  that  I 
was  going  to  Thrums,  and  she  rose  and  walked  to  the 
door,  looking  behind  to  see  that  I  followed. 

"You  must  not  come,"  I  said  harshly,  but  her  hand 
started  to  her  heart  as  if  I  had  shot  her,  and  I  added 
quickly,  "  Come. "  We  were  already  some  distance  on 
our  way  before  I  repeated  my  question. 

"What  matter  how  it  happened?"  she  answered  pit- 
eously,  and  they  were  words  of  which  I  felt  the  force. 
But  when  she  said  a  little  later,  "  I  thought  you  would 
say  it  is  not  true,"  I  took  courage,  and  forced  her  to 
tell  me  all  she  knew.  She  sobbed  while  she  spoke,  if 
one  may  sob  without  tears. 

"  I  heard  of  it  at  the  Spittal,"  she  said.     "The  news| 
broke  out  suddenly  there  that  the  piper  had  quarrelled 
with  some  one  in  Thrums,  and  that  in  trying  to  separate 
them  Mr.  Dishart  was  stabbed.     There  is  no  doubt  of 
its  truth." 

"We  should  have  heard  of  it  here,"  I  said  hopefully, 
"before  the  news  reached  the  Spittal.  It  cannot  be 
true." 

"It  was  brought  to  the  Spittal,"  she  answered,  "by 
the  hill  road." 


Jirst  Journeg  to  Cbrums.  233 

Then  my  spirits  sank  again,  for  I  knew  that  this  was 
possible.  There  is  a  path,  steep  but  short,  across  the 
hills  between  Thrums  and  the  top  of  the  glen,  which 
Mr.  Glendinning  took  frequently  when  he  had  to  preach 
at  both  places  on  the  same  Sabbath.  It  is  still  called 
the  Minister's  Road. 

"  Yet  if  the  earl  had  believed  it  he  would  have  sent 
some  one  into  Thrums  for  particulars,"  I  said,  grasping 
at  such  comfort  as  I  could  make. 

"He  does  believe  it, "  she  answered.  "He  told  me 
of  it  himself. " 

You  see  the  Egyptian  was  careless  of  her  secret  now ; 
but  what  was  that  secret  to  me?  An  hour  ago  it  would 
have  been  much,  and  already  it  was  not  worth  listening 
to.  If  she  had  begun  to  tell  me  why  Lord  Rintoul  took 
a  gypsy  girl  into  his  confidence  I  should  not  have  heard 
her. 

"  I  ran  quickly,"  she  said.  "  Even  if  a  messenger  was 
sent  he  might  be  behind  me." 

Was  it  her  words  or  the  tramp  of  a  horse  that  made 
us  turn  our  heads  at  that  moment?  I  know  not.  But 
far  back  in  a  twist  of  the  road  we  saw  a  horseman  ap- 
proaching at  such  a  reckless  pace  that  I  thought  he  was 
on  a  runaway.  We  stopped  instinctively,  and  waited 
for  him,  and  twice  he  disappeared  in  hollows  of  the 
road,  and  then  was  suddenly  tearing  down  upon  us. 
i  recognised  in  him  young  Mr.  McKenzie,  a  relative  off 
Rintoul,  and  I  stretched  out  my  arms  to  compel  him  to"! 
draw  up.  He  misunderstood  my  motive,  and  was  rais- 
ing his  whip  threateningly,  when  he  saw  the  Egyptian. 
It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  he  swayed  in  the  saddle. 
The  horse  galloped  on,  though  he  had  lost  hold  of  the 
reins.  He  looked  behind  until  he  rounded  a  corner, 
and  I  never  saw  such  amazement  mixed  with  incredulity 
on  a  human  face.  For  some  minutes  I  expected  to  see 
him  coming  back,  but  when  he  did  not  I  said  wonder- 
ingly  to  the  Egyptian — 


234  Gbe  Xtttle  d&tntatet. 

"He  knew  you." 

"  Did  he?"  she  answered  indifferently,  and  I  think  we 
spoke  no  more  until  we  were  in  Windyghoul.  Soon 
we  were  barely  conscious  of  each  other's  presence. 
Never  since  have  I  walked  between  the  school-house  and 
Thrums  in  so  short  a  time,  nor  seen  so  little  on  the  way. 

In  the  Egyptian's  eyes,  I  suppose,  was  a  picture  of 
Gavin  lying  dead ;  but  if  her  grief  had  killed  her  think- 
ing faculties,  mine,  that  was  only  less  keen  because  I 
had  been  struck  down  once  before,  had  set  all  the 
wheels  of  my  brain  in  action.  For  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  hour  had  come  when  I  must  disclose  myself 
to  Margaret. 

I  had  realised  always  that  if  such  a  necessity  did  arise 
it  could  only  be  caused  by  Gavin's  premature  death,  or 
by  his  proving  a  bad  son  to  her.  Some  may  wonder 
that  I  could  have  looked  calmly  thus  far  into  the  possi- 
ble, but  I  reply  that  the  night  of  Adam  Dishart's  home- 
coming had  made  of  me  a  man  whom  the  future  could 
not  surprise  again.  Though  I  saw  Gavin  and  his 
mother  happy  in  our  Auld  Licht  manse,  that  did  not 
prevent  my  considering  the  contingencies  which  might 
leave  her  without  a  son.  In  the  school-house  I  had 
brooded  over  them  as  one  may  think  over  moves  on  a 
draught-board.  It  ma)'-  have  been  idle,  but  it  was  done 
that  I  might  know  how  to  act  best  for  Margaret  if  any 
thing  untoward  occurred.  The  time  for  such  action 
had  come.  Gavin's  death  had  struck  me  hard,  but  it 
did  not  crush  me.  I  was  not  unprepared.  I  was  going 
to  Margaret  now. 

What  did  I  see  as  I  walked  quickly  along  the  glen 
road,  with  Babbie  silent  by  my  side,  and  I  doubt  not 
pods  of  the  broom  cracking  all  around  us?  I  saw  myself 
entering  the  Auld  Licht  manse,  where  Margaret  sat 
weeping  over  the  body  of  Gavin,  and  there  was  none  to 
break  my  coming  to  her,  for  none  but  she  and  I  knew 
what  had  been. 


ffirst  SourncB  to  Gbrum$.  338 

I  saw  my  Margaret  again,  so  fragile  now,  so  thin  the 
wrists,  her  hair  turned  grey.  No  nearer  could  I  go, 
but  stopped  at  the  door,  grieving  for  her,  and  at  last 
saying  her  name  aloud. 

I  saw  her  raise  her  face,  and  look  upon  me  for  the 
first  time  for  eighteen  years.  She  did  not  scream  at 
sight  of  me,  for  the  body  of  her  son  lay  between  us,  and 
bridged  the  gulf  that  Adam  Dishart  had  made. 

I  saw  myself  draw  near  her  reverently  and  say, 
"  Margaret,  he  is  dead,  and  that  is  why  I  have  come 
back,"  and  I  saw  her  put  her  arms  around  my  neck  as 
she  often  did  long  ago. ' 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  Never  since  that  night  at 
Harvie  have  I  spoken  to  Margaret. 

The  Egyptian  and  I  were  to  come  to  Windyghoul  be- 
fore I  heard  her  speak.  She  was  not  addressing  me. 
Here  Gavin  and  she  had  met  first,  and  she  was  talking 
of  that  meeting  to  herself. 

"  It  was  there, "  I  heard  her  say  softly,  as  she  gazed 
at  the  bush  beneath  which  she  had  seen  him  shaking 
his  fist  at  her  on  the  night  of  the  riots.  A  little  farther 
on  she  stopped  where  a  path  from  Windyghoul  sets  off 
for  the  well  in  the  wood.  She  looked  up  it  wistfully, 
and  there  I  left  her  behind,  and  pressed  on  to  the  mud- 
house  to  ask  Nanny  Webster  if  the  minister  was  dead. 
Nanny's  gate  was  swinging  in  the  wind,  but  her  door 
was  shut,  and  for  a  moment  I  stood  at  it  like  a  coward, 
afraid  to  enter  and  hear  the  worst. 

The  house  was  empty.  I  turned  from  it  relieved, 
as  if  I  had  got  a  respite,  and  while  I  stood  in  the  garden 
the  Egyptian  came  to  me  shuddering,  her  twitching 
face  asking  the  question  that  would  not  leave  her  lips. 

"There  is  no  one  in  the  house,"  I  said.  "Nanny  is 
perhaps  at  the  well." 

But  the  gypsy  went  inside,  and  pointing  to  the  fire 
said,  "  It  has  been  out  for  hours.  Do  you  not  see?  The 
murder  has  drawn  every  one  into  Thrums." 


236  Sbe  fcittle  Minister. 

So  I  feared.  A  dreadful  night  was  to  pass  before  I 
knew  that  this  was  the  day  of  the  release  of  Sanders 
Webster,  and  that  frail  Nanny  had  walked  into  Tillie- 
drum  to  meet  him  at  the  prison  gate. 

Babbie  sank  upon  a  stool,  so  weak  that  I  doubt 
whether  she  heard  me  tell  her  to  wait  there  until  my 
return.  I  hurried  into  Thrums,  not  by  the  hill,  though 
it  is  th»  shorter  way,  but  by  the  Roods,  for  I  must  hear 
all  before  I  ventured  to  approach  the  manse.  From 
Windyghoul  to  the  top  of  the  Roods  it  is  a  climb  and 
then  a  steep  descent.  The  road  has  no  sooner  reached 
its  highest  point  than  it  begins  to  fall  in  the  straight 
line  of  houses  called  the  Roods,  and  thus  I  came  upon 
a  full  view  of  the  street  at  once.  A  cart  was  laboring 
up  it.  There  were  women  sitting  on  stones  at  their 
doors,  and  girls  playing  at  palaulays,  and  out  of  the 
house  nearest  me  came  a  black  figure.  My  eyes  failed 
me;  I  was  asking  so  much  from  them.  They  made 
him  tall  and  short,  and  spare  and  stout,  so  that  I  knew 
it  was  Gavin,  and  yet,  looking  again,  feared,  but  all 
the  time,  I  think,  I  knew  it  was  he. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  HILL  BEFORE  DARKNESS   FELL— SCENE  OF  THE  IM- 
PENDING  CATASTROPHE. 

"You  are  better  now?"  I  heard  Gavin  ask,  presently. 

He  thought  that  having  been  taken  ill  suddenly  I  had 
waved  to  him  for  help  because  he  chanced  to  be  near. 
With  all  my  wits  about  me  I  might  have  left  him  in 
that  belief,  for  rather  would  I  have  deceived  him  than 
had  him  wonder  why  his  welfare  seemed  so  vital  to  me. 
But  I,  who  thought  the  capacity  for  being  taken  aback 
had  gone  from  me,  clung  to  his  arm  and  thanked  God 
audibly  that  he  still  lived.  He  did  not  tell  me  then 
how  my  agitation  puzzled  him,  but  led  me  kindly  to 
the  hill,  where  we  could  talk  without  listeners.  By  the 
time  we  reached  it  I  was  again  wary,  and  I  had  told 
him  what  had  brought  me  to  Thrums,  without  mention- 
ing how  the  story  of  his  death  reached  my  ears,  or 
through  whom. 

"Mr.  McKenzie,"  he  said,  interrupting  me,  "galloped 
all  the  way  from  the  Spittal  on  the  same  errand.  How- 
'ever,  no  one  has  been  hurt  much,  except  the  piper  him- 
self." 

Then  he  told  me  how  the  rumor  arose. 

"You  know  of  the  incident  at  the  Spittal,  and  that 
Campbell  marched  off  in  high  dudgeon?  I  understand 
that  he  spoke  to  no  one  between  the  Spittal  and  Thrums, 
but  by  the  time  he  arrived  here  he  was  more  communi- 
cative; yes,  and  thirstier.  He  was  treated  to  drink  in 
several  public-houses  by  persons  who  wanted  to  hear 
his  story,  and  by-and-by  he  began  to  drop  hints  of 


238  tbc  OLittle  Minister. 

knowing  something  against  the  earl's  bride.  Do  you 
know  Rob  Dow?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "and  what  you  have  done  for 
him." 

"  Ah,  sir !"  he  said,  sighing,  "  for  a  long  time  I  thought 
I  was  to  be  God's  instrument  in  making  a  better  man 
of  Rob,  but  my  power  over  him  went  long  ago.  Ten 
short  months  of  the  ministry  takes  some  of  the  vanity 
out  of  a  man. " 

Looking  sideways  at  him  I  was  startled  by  the  un- 
natural brightness  of  his  eyes.  Unconsciously  he  had 
acquired  the  habit  of  pressing  his  teeth  together  in  the 
pauses  of  his  talk,  shutting  them  on  some  woe  that 
would  proclaim  itself,  as  men  do  who  keep  their  misery 
to  themselves. 

"  A  few  hours  ago,"  he  went  on,  "  I  heard  Rob's  voice 
in  altercation  as  I  passed  the  Bull  tavern,  and  I  had 
a  feeling  that  if  I  failed  with  him  so  should  I  fail 
always  throughout  my  ministry.  I  walked  into  the 
public-house,  and  stopped  at  the  door  of  a  room  in 
which  Dow  and  the  piper  were  sitting  drinking.  I 
heard  Rob  saying,  fiercely, 'If  what  you  say  about  her 
is  true,  Highlandmari,  she's  the  woman  I've  been  look- 
ing for  this  half  year  and  mair;  what  is  she  like?'  I 
guessed,  from  what  I  had  been  told  of  the  piper,  that 
they  were  speaking  of  the  earl's  bride;  but  Rob  saw  me 
and  came  to  an  abrupt  stop,  saying  to  his  companion, 
'Dinna  say  another  word  about  her  afore  the  minister.' 
Rob  would  have  come  away  at  once  in  answer  to  my 
appeal,  but  the  piper  was  drunk  and  would  not  be 
silenced.  'I'll  tell  the  minister  about  her,  too,'  he 
began.  'You  dinna  ken  what  3'ou're  doing,'  Rob 
roared,  and  then,  as  if  to  save  my  ears  from  scandal  at 
any  cost,  he  struck  Campbell  a  heavy  blow  on  the 
mouth.  I  tried  to  intercept  the  blow,  with  the  result 
that  I  fell,  and  then  some  one  ran  out  of  the  tavern 
crying,  'He's  killed!'  The  pioer  had  been  "tunned, 


Gbe  f>ill  JBetore  Darhness  fell.  238 

but  the  story  went  abroad  that  he  had  stabbed  me  for 
interfering  with  him.  That  is  really  all.  Nothing,  as 
you  know,  can  overtake  an  untruth  if  it  has  a  minute's 
start." 

"Where  is  Campbell  now?" 

"Sleeping  off  the  effect  of  the  blow:  but  Dow  has 
fled.  He  was  terrified  at  the  shouts  of  murder,  and  ran 
off  up  the  West  Town  end.  The  doctor's  dogcart  was 
standing  at  a  door  there  and  Rob  jumped  into  it  and 
drove  off.  They  did  not  chase  him  far,  because  he  is 
sure  to  hear  the  truth  soon,  and  then,  doubtless,  he  will 
come  back." 

Though  in  a  few  hours  we  were  to  wonder  at  our 
denseness,  neither  Gavin  nor  I  saw  why  Dow  had  struck 
the  Highlander  down  rather  than  let  him  tell  his  story 
in  the  minister's  presence.  One  moment's  suspicion 
would  have  lit  our  way  to  the  whole  truth,  but  of  the 
spring  to  all  Rob's  behavior  in  the  past  eight  months 
we  were  ignorant,  and  so  to  Gavin  the  Bull  had  only 
been  the  scene  of  a  drunken  brawl,  while  I  forgot  to 
think  in  the  joy  of  finding  him  alive. 

"I  have  a  prayer-meeting  for  rain  presently,"  Gavin 
said,  breaking  a  picture  that  had  just  appeared  unpleas- 
antly before  me  of  Babbie  still  in  agony  at  Nanny's, 
"  but  before  I  leave  you  tell  me  why  this  rumor  caused 
you  such  distress." 

The  question  troubled  me,  and  I  tried  to  avoid  it. 
Crossing  the  hill  we  had  by  this  time  drawn  near  a 
hollow  called  the  Toad's-hole,  then  gay  and  noisy  with 
a  caravan  of  gypsies.  They  were  those  same  wild 
Lindsays,  for  whom  Gavin  had  searched  Caddam  one 
eventful  night,  and  as  I  saw  them  crowding  round  their 
king,  a  man  well  known  to  me,  I  guessed  what  they 
were  at. 

"Mr.  Dishart,"  I  said  abruptly,  "would  you  like  to 
see  a  gypsy  marriage?  One  is  taking  place  there  just 
now.  That  big  fellow  is  the  king,  and  he  is  about  to 


240  ttbe  Xittle  d&tnteter. 

marry  two  of  his  people  over  the  tongs.  The  ceremony 
will  not  detain  us  five  minutes,  though  the  rejoicings 
will  go  on  all  night." 

I  have  been  present  at  more  than  one  gypsy  wedding 
in  my  time,  and  at  the  wild,  weird  orgies  that  followed 
them,  but  what  is  interesting  to  such  as  I  may  not  be 
for  a  minister's  eyes,  and,  frowning  at  my  proposal, 
Gavin  turned  his  back  upon  the  Toad's-hole.  Then, 
as  we  recrossed  the  hill,  to  get  away  from  the  din  of 
the  camp,  I  pointed  out  to  him  that  the  report  of  his 
death  had  brought  McKenzie  to  Thrums,  as  well  as  me. 

"As  soon  as  McKenzie  heard  I  was  not  dead,"  he 
answered,  "  he  galloped  off  to  the  Spittal,  without  even 
seeing  me.  I  suppose  he  posted  back  to  be  in  time  for 
the  night's  rejoicings  there.  So  you  see,  it  was  not 
solicitude  for  me  that  brought  him.  He  came  because 
a  servant  at  the  Spittal  was  supposed  to  have  done  the 
deed." 

"Well,  Mr.  Dishart,"  I  had  to  say,  "why  should  I 
deny  that  I  have  a  warm  regard  for  you?  You  have 
done  brave  work  in  our  town. " 

"It  has  been  little,"  he  replied.  "With  God's  help 
it  will  be  more  in  future. " 

He  meant  that  he  had  given  time  to  his  sad  love 
affair  that  he  owed  to  his  people.  Of  seeing  Babbie 
again  I  saw  that  he  had  given  up  hope.  Instead  of  re- 
pining, he  was  devoting  his  whole  soul  to  God's  work. 
I  was  proud  of  him,  and  yet  I  grieved,  for  I  could  not 
think  that  God  wanted  him  to  bury  his  youth  so  soon. 

"  I  had  thought,"  he  confessed  to  me,  "that  you  were 
one  of  those  who  did  not  like  my  preaching. " 

"You  were  mistaken,"  I  said,  gravely.  I  dared  not 
tell  him  that,  except  his  mother,  none  would  have  sat 
under  him  so  eagerly  as  I. 

"Nevertheless,"  he  said,  "you  were  a  member  of  the 
Auld  Licht  church  in  Mr.  Carfrae's  time,  and  you  left 
it  when  I  came." 


Cbc  1bill  Before  2>arfcne88  Sell.  241. 

"  I  heard  your  first  sermon,"  I  said. 

"  Ah,"  he  replied.  "  I  had  not  been  long  in  Thrums 
before  I  discovered  that  if  I  took  tea  with  any  of  my 
congregation  and  declined  a  second  cup,  they  thought 
it  a  reflection  on  their  brewing." 

•'  You  must  not  look  upon  my  absence  in  that  light," 
was  all  I  could  say.  "  There  are  reasons  why  I  cannot 
come." 

He  did  not  press  me  further,  thinking  I  meant  that 
the  distance  was  too  great,  though  frailer  folk  than  I 
walked  twenty  miles  to  hear  him.  We  might  have 
parted  thus  had  we  not  wandered  by  chance  to  the  very 
spot  where  I  had  met  him  and  Babbie.  There  is  a  seat 
there  now  for  those  who  lose  their  breath  on  the  climb 
up,  and  so  I  have  two  reasons  nowadays  for  not  passing 
the  place  by. 

We  read  each  other's  thoughts,  and  Gavin  said 
calmly,  "  I  have  not  seen  her  since  that  night.  She 
disappeared  as  into  a  grave. " 

How  could  I  answer  when  I  knew  that  Babbie  was 
dying  for  want  of  him,  not  half  a  mile  away? 

"You  seemed  to  understand  everything  that  night," 
he  went  on ;  "  or  if  you  did  not,  your  thoughts  were  very 
generous  to  me." 

In  my  sorrow  for  him  I  did  not  notice  that  we  were 
moving  on  again,  this  time  in  the  direction  of  Windy- 
ghoul. 

"She  was  only  a  gypsy  girl,"  he  said,  abruptly,  and 
I  nodded.  "But  I  hoped,"  he  continued,  "that  she 
would  be  my  wife." 

"  I  understood  that,"  I  said. 

"There  was  nothing  monstrous  to  you,"  he  asked, 
looking  me  in  the  face,  "  in  a  minister's  marrying  a 
gypsy?" 

I  own  that  if  I  had  loved  a  girl,  however  far  below 
or  above  me  in  degree,  I  would  have  married  her  had 
she  been  willing  to  take  me.  But  to  Gavin  I  only 
16 


242  ttbe  Xittle  Minister. 

answered,  "  These  are  matters  a  man  must  decide  foi 
himself. " 

"I  had  decided  for  myself,"  he  said,  emphatically. 

"  Yet,"  I  said,  wanting  him  to  talk  to  me  of  Margaret, 
"  in  such  a  case  one  might  have  others  to  consider  be- 
sides himself." 

"  A  man's  marriage, "  he  answered,  "  is  his  own  affair. 
I  would  have  brooked  no  interference  from  my  congre- 
gation." 

I  thought,  "  There  is  some  obstinacy  left  in  him  still ;" 
but  aloud  I  said,  "  It  was  of  your  mother  I  was  thinking. " 

"  She  would  have  taken  Babbie  to  her  heart,"  he  said, 
with  the  fond  conviction  of  a  lover. 

I  doubted  it,  but  I  only  asked,  "  Your  mother  knows 
nothing  of  her?" 

"  Nothing,"  he  rejoined.  "  It  would  be  cruelty  to  tell 
my  mother  of  her  now  that  she  is  gone. " 

Gavin's  calmness  had  left  him,  and  he  was  striding 
quickly  nearer  to  Windyghoul.  I  was  in  dread  lest  he 
should  see  the  Egyptian  at  Nanny's  door,  yet  to  have 
turned  him  in  another  direction  might  have  roused  his 
suspicions.  When  we  were  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
the  mudhouse,  I  knew  that  there  was  no  Babbie  in 
sight.  We  halved  the  distance  and  then  I  saw  her  at 
the  open  window.  Gavin's  eyes  were  on  the  ground, 
but  she  saw  him.  I  held  my  breath,  fearing  that  she 
would  run  out  to  him. 

"You  have  never  seen  her  since  that  night?"  Gavin 
asked  me,  without  hope  in  his  voice. 

Had  he  been  less  hopeless  he  would  have  wondered 
why  I  did  not  reply  immediately.  I  was  looking  covert- 
ly at  the  mudhouse,  of  which  we  were  now  within  a  few 
yards.  Babbie's  face  had  gone  from  the  window,  and 
the  door  remained  shut.  That  she  could  hear  every 
word  we  uttered  now,  I  could  not  doubt.  But  she  was 
hiding  from  the  man  for  whom  her  soul  longed.  She 
was  sacrificing  herself  for  him. 


Cbe  till 30efore  Bareness  ffell.  24» 

"Never,"  I  answered,  notwithstanding  my  pity  of 
the  brave  girl,  and  then  while  I  was  shaking  lest  he 
should  go  in  to  visit  Nanny,  I  heard  the  echo  of  the 
Auld  Licht  bell. 

"That  calls  me  to  the  meeting  for  rain,"  Gavin  said, 
bidding  me  good-night.  I  had  acted  for  Margaret,  and 
yet  I  had  hardly  the  effrontery  to  take  his  hand.  I 
suppose  he  saw  sympathy  in  my  face,  for  suddenly  the 
cry  broke  from  him — 

"  If  I  could  only  know  that  nothing  evil  had  befallen 
her!" 

Babbie  heard  him  and  could  not  restrain  a  heart- 
breaking sob. 

"What  was  that?"  he  said,  starting. 

A  moment  I  waited,  to  let  her  show  herself  if  she 
chose.  But  the  mudhouse  was  silent  again. 

"  It  was  some  boy  in  the  wood,"  I  answered. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said,  trying  to  smile. 

Had  I  let  him  go,  here  would  have  been  the  end  of 
his  love  story,  but  that  piteous  smile  unmanned  me,  and 
I  could  not  keep  the  words  back. 

"  She  is  in  Nanny's  house,"  I  cried. 

In  another  moment  these  two  were  together  for  weal 
or  woe,  and  I  had  set  off  dizzily  for  the  school-house, 
feeling  now  that  I  had  been  false  to  Margaret,  and  again 
exulting  in  what  I  had  done.  By  and  by  the  bell 
stopped,  and  Gavin  and  Babbie  regarded  it  as  little  as 
I  heeded  the  burns  now  crossing  the  glen  road  noisily 
at  places  that  had  been  dry  two  hours  before. 


I 

CHAPTER    XXIX. 


STORY  OF  THE  EGYPTIAN. 

GOD  gives  us  more  than,  were  we  not  overbold,  we 
should  dare  to  ask  for,  and  yet  how  often  (perhaps  after 
saying  "  Thank  God"  so  curtly  that  it  is  only  a  form  of 
swearing)  we  are  suppliants  again  within  the  hour. 
Gavin  was  to  be  satisfied  if  he  were  told  that  no  evil  had 
befallen  her  he  loved,  and  all  the  way  between  the 
school-house  and  Windyghoul  Babbie  craved  for  no 
more  than  Gavin's  life.  Now  they  had  got  their  de- 
sires; but  do  you  think  they  were  content? 

The  Egyptian  had  gone  on  her  knees  when  she  heard 
Gavin  speak  of  her.  It  was  her  way  of  preventing  her- 
self from  running  to  him.  Then,  when  she  thought  him 
gone,  he  opened  the  door.  She  rose  and  shrank  back, 
but  first  she  had  stepped  toward  him  with  a  glad  cry. 
His  disappointed  arms  met  on  nothing. 

"You,  too,  heard  that  I  was  dead?"  he  said,  thinking 
her  strangeness  but  grief  too  sharply  turned  to  joy. 

There  were  tears  in  the  word  with  which  she  answered 
him,  and  he  would  have  kissed  her,  but  she  defended 
her  face  with  her  hand. 

"Babbie,"  he  asked,  beginning  to  fear  that  he 
had  not  sounded  her  deepest  woe,  "  why  have  you 
left  me  all  this  time?  You  are  not  glad  to  see  me 
now?" 

"I  was  glad,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice,  "to  see 
you  from  the  window,  but  I  prayed  to  God  not  to  let 
you  see  me." 

She  even  pulled  away  her  hand  when  he  would  have 


Store  of  tbe  Egyptian.  243 

taken  it.  "  No,  no,  I  am  to  tell  you  everything  now, 
and  then " 

"Say  that  you  love  me  first,"  he  broke  in,  when  a 
sob  checked  her  speaking. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  must  tell  you  first  what  I  have 
done,  and  then  you  will  not  ask  me  to  say  that.  I  am 
not  a  gypsy. " 

"What  of  that?"  cried  Gavin.  "It  was  not  because 
you  were  a  gypsy  that  I  loved  you." 

"  That  is  the  last  time  you  will  say  you  love  me,"  said 
Babbie.  "  Mr.  Dishart,  I  am  to  be  married  to-morrow." 

She  stopped,  afraid  to  say  more  lest  he  should  fall, 
but  except  that  his  arms  twitched  he  did  not  move. 

"  I  am  to  be  married  to  Lord  Rintoul,"  she  went  on. 
"  Now  you  know  who  I  am." 

She  turned  from  him,  for  his  piercing  eyes  frightened 
her.  Nevef  again,  she  knew,  would  she  see  the  love- 
light  in  them.  He  plucked  himself  from  the  spot 
where  he  had  stood  looking  at  her  and  walked  to  the 
window.  When  he  wheeled  round  there  was  no  anger  on 
his  face,  only  a  pathetic  wonder  that  he  had  been  de- 
ceived so  easily.  It  was  at  himself  that  he  was  smil- 
ing grimly  rather  than  at  her,  and  the  change  pained 
Babbie  as  no  words  could  have  hurt  her.  He  sat  down 
i  >n  a  chair  and  waited  for  her  to  go  on. 

"Don't  look  at  me,"  she  said,  "and  I  will  tell  you 
everything."  He  dropped  his  eyes  listlessly,  and  had 
he  not  asked  her  a  question  from  time  to  time,  she  would 
have  doubted  whether  he  heard  her. 

"After  all,"  she  said,  "a  gypsy  dress  is  my  birth- 
right, and  so  the  Thrums  people  were  scarcely  wrong  in 
calling  me  an  Egyptian.  It  is  a  pity  any  one  insisted 
on  making  me  something  different.  I  believe  I  could 
have  been  a  good  gypsy." 

"  Who  were  your  parents?"  Gavin  asked,  without 
looking  up. 

"  You  ask  that,"  she  said,  "because  you  have  a  good 


346  3be  little  Afnfeter. 

mother.  It  is  not  a  question  that  would  occur  to  me. 
My  mother —  If  she  was  bad,  may  not  that  be  some 
excuse  for  me?  Ah,  but  I  have  no  wish  to  excuse  my- 
self. Have  you  seen  a  gypsy  cart  with  a  sort  of  ham- 
mock swung  beneath  it  in  which  gypsy  children  are 
carried  about  the  country?  If  there  are  no  children, 
the  pots  and  pans  are  stored  in  it.  Unless  the  roads 
are  rough  it  makes  a  comfortable  cradle,  and  it  was  the 
only  one  I  ever  knew.  Well,  one  day  I  suppose  the 
road  was  rough,  for  I  was  capsized.  I  remember  pick- 
ing myself  up  after  a  little  and  running  after  the  cart, 
but  they  did  not  hear  my  cries.  I  sat  down  by  the  road- 
side and  stared  after  the  cart  until  I  lost  sight  of  it. 
That  was  in  England,  and  I  was  not  three  years  old. " 

"But  surely,"  Gavin  said,  "they  came  back  to  look 
for  you?" 

"So  far  as  I  know,"  Babbie  answered  hardly,  "they 
did  not  come  back.  I  have  never  seen  them  since.  I 
think  they  were  drunk.  My  only  recollection  of  my 
mother  is  that  she  once  took  me  to  see  the  dead  body 
of  some  gypsy  who  had  been  murdered.  She  told  me 
to  dip  my  hand  in  the  blood,  so  that  I  could  say  I  had 
done  so  when  I  became  a  woman.  It  was  meant  as  a 
treat  to  me,  and  is  the  one  kindness  I  am  sure  I  got  from 
her.  Curiously  enough,  I  felt  the  shame  of  her  desert- 
ing me  for  many  years  afterwards.  As  a  child  I  cried 
hysterically  at  thought  of  it;  it  pained  me  when  I  was 
at  school  in  Edinburgh  every  time  I  saw  the  other  girls 
writing  home;  I  cannot  think  of  it  without  a  shudder 
even  now.  It  is  what  makes  me  worse  than  other 
women. " 

Her  voice  had  altered,  and  she  was  speaking  passion- 
ately. 

"Sometimes,"  she  continued,  more  gently,  "I  try  to 
think  that  my  mother  did  come  back  for  me,  and  then 
went  away  because  she  heard  I  was  in  better  hands  than 
hers.  It  was  Lord  Rintoul  who  found  me,  and  I  owe 


Stonj  of  tbe  jeggpttan.  MI 

everything  to  him.  You  will  say  that  he  has  no  need  to 
be  proud  of  me.  He  took  me  home  on  his  horse,  and 
paid  his  gardener's  wife  to  rear  me.  She  was  Scotch, 
and  that  is  why  I  can  speak  two  languages.  It  was  he, 
too,  who  sent  me  to  school  in  Edinburgh." 

"He  has  been  very  kind  to  you,"  said  Gavin,  who 
would  have  preferred  to  dislike  the  earl. 

"So  kind,"  answered  Babbie,  "that  now  he  is  to 
marry  me.  But  do  you  know  why  he  has  done  all 
this?" 

Now  again  she  was  agitated,  and  spoke  indignantly. 

"It  is  all  because  I  have  a  pretty  face,"  she  said,  her 
bosom  rising  and  falling.  "  Men  think  of  nothing  else. 
He  had  no  pity  for  the  deserted  child.  I  knew  that 
while  I  was  yet  on  his  horse.  When  he  came  to  the 
gardener's  afterwards,  it  was  not  to  give  me  some  one 
to  love,  it  was  only  to  look  upon  what  was  called  my 
beauty;  I  was  merely  a  picture  to  him,  and  even  the 
gardener's  children  knew  it  and  sought  to  terrify  me 
by  saying,  'You  are  losing  your  looks;  the  earl  will  not 
care  for  you  any  more.'  Sometimes  he  brought  his 
friends  to  see  me,  'because  I  was  such  a  lovely  child,' 
and  if  they  did  not  agree  with  him  on  that  point  he 
left  without  kissing  me.  Throughout  my  whole  girl- 
hood I  was  taught  nothing  but  to  please  him,  and  the 
only  way  to  do  that  was  to  be  pretty.  It  was  the  only 
virtue  worth  striving  for ;  the  others  were  never  thought 
of  when  he  asked  how  I  was  getting  on.  Once  I  had 
fever  and  nearly  died,  yet  this  knowledge  that  my  face 
was  everything  was  implanted  in  me  so  that  my  fear 
lest  he  should  think  me  ugly  when  I  recovered  terrified 
me  into  hysterics.  I  dream  still  that  I  am  in  that  fever 
and  all  my  fears  return.  He  did  think  me  ugly  when 
he  saw  me  next.  I  remember  the  incident  so  well  still. 
I  had  run  to  him,  and  he  was  lifting  me  up  to  kiss  me 
when  he  saw  that  my  face  had  changed.  'What  a  cruel 
disappointment, '  he  said,  and  turned  his  back  011  ma 


248  Cbe  little  dfcinlster. 

I  had  given  him  a  child's  love  until  then,  but  from  that 
day  I  was  hard  and  callous. " 

"And  when  was  it  you  became  beautiful  again?" 
Gavin  asked,  by  no  means  in  the  mind  to  pay  compli- 
ments. 

"A  year  passed,"  she  continued  ,  "before  I  saw  him 
again.  In  that  time  he  had  not  asked  for  me  once,  and 
the  gardener  had  kept  me  out  of  charity.  It  was  by  an 
accident  tha*  we  met,  and  at  first  he  did  not  know  me. 
Then  he  said,  'Why,  Babbie,  I  believe  you  are  to  be  a 
beauty,  after  all!'  I  hated  him  for  that,  and  stalked 
away  from  him,  but  he  called  after  me,  'Bravo!  she 
walks  like  a  queen  ' ;  and  it  was  because  I  walked  like  a 
queen  that  he  sent  me  to  an  Edinburgh  school.  He 
tised  to  come  to  see  me  every  year,  and  as  I  grew  up 
the  girls  called  me  Lady  Rintoul.  He  was  not  fond  of 
me ;  he  is  not  fond  of  me  now.  He  would  as  soon  think 
of  looking  at  the  back  of  a  picture  as  at  what  I  am 
apart  from  my  face,  but  he  dotes  on  it,  and  is  to  marry 
it.  Is  that  love?  Long  before  I  left  school,  which  was 
shortly  before  you  came  to  Thrums,  he  had  told  his  sis- 
ter that  he  was  determined  to  marry  me,  and  she  hated 
me  for  it,  making  me  as  uncomfortable  as  she  could,  so 
that  I  almost  looked  forward  to  the  marriage  because  it 
would  be  such  a  humiliation  to  her." 

In  admitting  this  she  looked  shamefacedly  at  Gavin, 
and  then  went  on : 

"  It  is  humiliating  him  too.  I  understand  him.  He 
would  like  not  to  want  to  marry  me,  for  he  is  ashamed 
of  my  origin,  but  he  cannot  help  it.  It  is  this  feeling 
that  has  brought  him  here,  so  that  the  marriage  may 
take  place  where  my  history  is  not  known." 

"The  secret  has  been  well  kept,  "Gavin  said,  "for 
they  have  failed  to  discover  it  even  in  Thrums." 

"  Some  of  the  Spittal  servants  suspect  it,  neverthe- 
less," Babbie  answered,  "though  how  much  they  know 
I  cannot  say  He  has  not  a  servant  now,  either  here  or 


of  tbc  J£ggptfan.  34» 

in  England,  who  knew  me  as  a  child.  The  gardener 
who  befriended  me  was  sent  away  long  ago.  Lord 
Riritoul  looks  upon  me  as  a  disgrace  to  him  that  he 
cannot  live  without." 

"  I  dare  say  he  cares  for  you  more  than  you  think," 
Gavin  said  gravely. 

"  He  is  infatuated  about  my  face,  or  the  pose  of  my 
head,  or  something  of  that  sort,"  Babbie  said  bitterly, 
"or  he  would  not  have  endured  me  so  long.  I  have 
twice  had  the  wedding  postponed,  chiefly,  I  believe,  to 
enrage  my  natural  enemy,  his  sister,  who  is  as  much  ag- 
gravated by  my  reluctance  to  marry  him  as  by  his  desire 
to  marry  me.  However,  I  also  felt  that  imprisonment 
for  life  was  approaching  as  the  day  drew  near,  and  I 
told  him  that  if  he  did  not  defer  the  wedding  I  should 
run  away.  He  knows  I  am  capable  of  it,  for  twice  I 
ran  away  from  school.  If  his  sister  only  knew  that!" 

For  a  moment  it  was  the  old  Babbie  Gavin  saw;  but 
her  glee  was  short-lived,  and  she  resumed  sedately: 

"  They  were  kind  to  me  at  school,  but  the  life  was  so 
dull  and  prim  that  I  ran  off  in  a  gypsy  dress  of  my 
own  making.  That  is  what  it  is  to  have  gypsy  blood 
in  one.  I  was  away  for  a  week  the  first  time,  wander- 
ing the  country  alone,  telling  fortunes,  dancing  and 
singing  in  woods,  and  sleeping  in  barns.  I  am  the  only 
woman  in  the  world  well  brought  up  who  is  not  afraid 
of  mice  or  rats.  That  is  my  gypsy  blood  again.  After 
that  wild  week  I  went  back  to  the  school  of  my  own 
will,  and  no  one  knows  of  the  escapade  but  my  school- 
mistress and  Lord  Rintoul.  The  second  time,  however, 
I  was  detected  singing  in  the  street,  and  then  my  fu- 
ture husband  was  asked  to  take  me  away.  Yet  Miss 
Feversham  cried  when  I  left,  and  told  me  that  I  was 
the  nicest  girl  she  knew,  as  well  as  the  nastiest.  She 
said  she  should  love  me  as  soon  as  I  was  not  one  of  her 
boarders." 

"And  then  you  came  to  the  Spittal?" 


850  Ube  little  dfcinteter. 

"Yes;  and  Lord  Rintoul  wanted  me  to  say  I  was 
sorry  for  what  I  had  done,  but  I  told  him  I  need  not 
say  that,  for  I  was  sure  to  do  it  again.  As  you  know, 
I  have  done  it  several  times  since  then ;  and  though  I 
am  a  different  woman  since  I  knew  you,  I  dare  say  I 
shall  go  on  doing  it  at  times  all  my  life.  You  shake 
your  head  because  you  do  not  understand.  It  is  not 
that  I  make  up  my  mind  to  break  out  in  that  way;  I 
may  not  have  had  the  least  desire  to  do  it  for  weeks, 
and  then  suddenly,  when  I  am  out  riding,  or  at  dinner, 
or  at  a  dance,  the  craving  to  be  a  gypsy  again  is  so 
strong  that  I  never  think  of  resisting  it ;  I  would  risk 
my  life  to  gratify  it.  Yes,  whatever  my  life  in  the 
future  is  to  be,  I  know  that  must  be  a  part  of  it.  I  used 
to  pretend  at  the  Spittal  that  I  had  gone  to  bed,  and 
then  escape  by  the  window.  I  was  mad  with  glee  at 
those  times,  but  I  always  returned  before  morning,  ex- 
cept once,  the  last  time  I  saw  you,  when  I  was  away 
for  nearly  twenty-four  hours.  Lord  Rintoul  was  so 
glad  to  see  me  come  back  then  that  he  almost  forgave 
me  for  going  away.  There  is  nothing  more  to  tell  ex- 
cept that  on  the  night  of  the  riot  it  was  not  my  gypsy 
nature  that  brought  me  to  Thrums,  but  a  desire  to  save 
the  poor  weavers.  I  had  heard  Lord  Rintoul  and  the 
sheriff  discussing  the  contemplated  raid.  I  have  hid- 
den nothing  from  you.  In  time,  perhaps,  I  shall  have 
suffered  sufficiently  for  all  my  wickedness." 

Gavin  rose  weariedly,  and  walked  through  the  mud- 
house  looking  at  her. 

"This  is  the  end  of  it  all,"  he  said  harshly,  coming 
to  a  standstill.  "  I  loved  you,  Babbie." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  shaking  her  head.  "  You  never 
knew  me  until  now,  and  so  it  was  not  me  you  loved. 
I  know  what  you  thought  I  was,  and  I  will  try  to  be  it 
now." 

"If  you  had  only  told  me  this  before,"  the  minister 
said  sadly,  "  it  might  not  have  been  too  late." 


Stotg  ot  tbe  JEggptian.  251 

"I  only  thought  you  like  all  the  other  men  I  knew," 
she  replied,  "  until  the  night  I  came  to  the  manse.  It 
was  only  my  face  you  admired  at  first." 

"No,  it  was  never  that,"  Gavin  said  with  such  con- 
viction that  her  mouth  opened  in  alarm  to  ask  him  if 
he  did  not  think  foer  pretty.  She  did  not  speak,  how- 
ever, and  he  continued,  "  You  must  have  known  that  I 
loved  you  from  the  first  night." 

"No;  you  only  amused  me,"  she  said,  like  one  de- 
termined to  stint  nothing  of  the  truth.  "  Even  at  the 
well  I  laughed  at  your  vows. " 

This  wounded  Gavin  afresh,  wretched  as  her  story 
had  made  him,  and  he  said  tragically,  "  You  have 
never  cared  for  me  at  all." 

"Oh,  always,  always,"  she  answered,  "since  I  knew 
what  love  was;  and  it  was  you  who  taught  me." 

Even  in  his  misery  he  held  his  head  high  with  pride. 
At  least  she  did  love  him. 

"And  then,"  Babbie  said,  hiding  her  face,  "I  could 
not  tell  you  what  I  was  because  I  knew  you  would 
loathe  me.  I  could  only  go  away. " 

She  looked  at  him  forlornly  through  her  tears,  and 
then  moved  toward  the  door.  He  had  sunk  upon  a 
stool,  his  face  resting  on  the  table,  and  it  was  her  in- 
tention to  slip  away  unnoticed.  But  he  heard  the  latch 
rise,  and  jumping  up,  said  sharply,  "Babbie,  I  cannot 
give  you  up." 

She  stood  in  tears,  swinging  the  door  unconsciously 
with  her  hand. 

"Don't  say  that  you  love  me  still,"  she  cried;  and 
then,  letting  her  hand  fall  from  the  door,  added  im- 
ploringly, "Oh,  Gavin,  do  you?" 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

THE  MEETING  FOR  RAIN. 

MEANWHILE  the  Auld  Lichts  were  in  church,  waiting 
for  their  minister,  and  it  was  a  full  meeting,  because 
nearly  every  well  in  Thrums  had  been  scooped  dry  by 
anxious  palms.  Yet  not  all  were  there  to  ask  God's 
rain  for  themselves.  Old  Charles  Yuill  was  in  his  pew, 
after  dreaming  thrice  that  he  would  break  up  with  the 
drought;  and  Bell  Christison  had  come,  though  her 
man  lay  dead  at  home,  and  she  thought  it  could  matter 
no  more  to  her  how  things  went  in  the  world. 

You,  who  do  not  love  that  little  congregation,  would 
have  said  that  they  were  waiting  placidly.  But  prob- 
ably so  simple  a  woman  as  Meggy  Rattray  could  have 
deceived  you  into  believing  that  because  her  eyes  were 
downcast  she  did  not  notice  who  put  the  three-penny- 
bit  in  the  plate.  A  few  men  were  unaware  that  the 
bell  was  working  overtime,  most  of  them  farmers  with 
their  eyes  on  the  windows,  but  all  the  women  at  least 
were  wondering.  They  knew  better,  however,  than 
to  bring  their  thoughts  to  their  faces,  and  none  sought 
to  catch  another's  eye.  The  men-folk  looked  heavily 
at  their  hats  in  the  seats  in  front.  Even  when  Hendry 
Munn,  instead  of  marching  to  the  pulpit  with  the  big 
Bible  in  his  hands,  came  as  far  as  the  plate  and  signed 
to  Peter  Tosh,  elder,  that  he  was  wanted  in  the  vestry, 
you  could  not  have  guessed  how  every  woman  there, 
except  Bell  Christison,  wished  she  was  Peter  Tosh. 
Peter  was  so  taken  aback  that  he  merely  gaped  at 
Hendry,  until  suddenly  he  knew  that  his  five  daughters 


Gbe  Meeting  for  TRatn.  263 

were  furious  with  him,  when  he  dived  for  his  hat  and 
staggered  to  the  vestry  with  his  mouth  open.  His 
boots  cheeped  all  the  way,  but  no  one  looked  up. 

"I  hadna  noticed  the  minister  was  lang  in  coming," 
Waster  Lunny  told  me  afterward,  "but  Elspeth  no- 
ticed it,  and  with  a  quickness  that  baffles  me  she  saw  I 
was  thinking  o*  other  things.  So  she  let  out  her  foot 
at  me.  I  gae  a  low  cough  to  let  her  ken  I  wasna  sleep- 
ing, but  in  a  minute  out  goes  her  foot  agaie.  Ay, 
syne  I  thocht  I  micht  hae  dropped  my  hanky  into 
Snecky  Hobart's  pew,  but  no,  it  was  in  my  tails.  Yet 
her  hand  was  on  the  board,  and  she  was  working  her 
fingers  in  a  way  that  I  kent  meant  she  would  like  to 
shake  me.  Next  I  looked  to  see  if  I  was  sitting  on  her 
frock,  the  which  tries  a  woman  sair,  but  I  wasna. 
'Does  she  want  to  change  Bibles  wi'  me?'  I  wondered; 
'or  is  she  sliding  yont  a  peppermint  to  me?'  It  was 
neither,  so  I  edged  as  far  frae  her  as  I  could  gang. 
Weel,  would  you  credit  it,  I  saw  her  body  coming 
nearer  me  inch  by  inch,  though  she  was  looking 
straucht  afore  her,  till  she  was  within  kick  o'  me,  and 
then  out  again  goes  her  foot.  At  that,  dominie,  I  lost 
patience,  and  I  whispered,  fierce-like,  'Keep  your  foot 
to  yoursel',  you  limmer!'  Ay,  her  intent,  you  see,  was 
to  waken  me  to  what  was  gaen  on,  but  I  couldna  be 
expected  to  ken  that. " 

In  the  vestry  Hendry  Munn  was  now  holding  coun- 
sel with  three  elders,  of  whom  the  chief  was  Lang 
Tammas. 

"The  laddie  I  sent  to  the  manse,"  Hendry  said, 
"  canna  be  back  this  five  minutes,  and  the  question  is 
how  we're  to  fill  up  that  time.  I'll  ring  no  langer,  for 
the  bell  has  been  in  a  passion  ever  since  a  quarter-past 
eight.  It's  as  sweer  to  clang  past  the  quarter  as  a 
horse  to  gallop  by  its  stable." 

"  You  could  gang  to  your  box  and  gie  out  a  psalm, 
Tammas,"  suggested  John  Spens. 


254  ttbe  Xittle  Minister. 

"And  would  a  psalm  sung  wi'  sic  an  object,"  re- 
torted the  precentor,  "  mount  higher,  think  you,  than  a 
bairn's  kite?  I'll  insult  the  Almighty  to  screen  no 
minister. " 

"You're  screening  him  better  by  standing  whaur  you 
are,"  said  the  imperturbable  Hendry;  "for  as  lang  as 
you  diuna  show  your  face  they'll  think  it  may  be  you 
that's  missing  instead  o'  Mr.  Dishart." 

Indeed,  Gavin's  appearance  in  church  without  the 
precentor  would  have  been  as  surprising  as  Tammas's 
without  the  minister.  As  certainly  as  the  shutting  of 
a  money-box  is  followed  by  the  turning  of  the  key,  did 
the  precentor  walk  stiffly  from  the  vestry  to  his  box  a 
toll  of  the  bell  in  front  of  the  minister.  Tammas's 
halfpenny  rang  in  the  plate  as  Gavin  passed  T'now- 
head's  pew,  and  Gavin's  sixpence  with  the  snapping-to 
of  the  precentor's  door.  The  two  men  might  have  been: 
connected  by  a  string  that  tightened  at  ten  yards. 

"  The  congregation  ken  me  ower  weel,"  Tammas  said,, 
"to  believe  I  would  keep  the  Lord  waiting." 

"And  they  are  as  sure  o'  Mr.  Dishart,"  rejoined 
Spens,  with  spirit,  though  he  feared  the  precentor  on 
Sabbaths  and  at  prayer-meetings.  "You're  a  hard 
man." 

"  I  speak  the  blunt  truth, "  Whamond  answered. 

"Ay,"  said  Spens,  "and  to  tak'  credit  for  that  may 
be  like  blawing  that  you're  ower  honest  to  wear 
claethes." 

Hendry,  who  had  gone  to  the  door,  returned  now 
with  the  information  that  Mr.  Dishart  had  left  the 
manse  two  hours  ago  to  pay  visits,  meaning  o  come  to- 
the  prayer-meetin  beforeg  he  returned  home. 

"There's  a  quirk  in  this,  Hendry,"  said  Tosh. 
"Was  it  Mistress  Dishart  the  laddie  saw?" 

"No,"  Hendry  replied.  "It  was  Jean.  She  canna 
get  to  the  meeting  because  the  mistress  is  nervous'-  in 
the  manse  by  herself;  and  Jean  didna  like  to  tell  her 


Aeetlno  for  TRaiit  ?.» 

that  he's  missing,  for  fear  o'  alarming  her.  What  are 
we  to  do  now?" 

"  He's  an  unfaithful  shepherd,"  cried  the  precentor, 
while  Hendry  again  went  out.  "  I  see  it  written  on  the 
walls." 

"  I  dinna,"  said  Spens  doggedly. 

"  Because, "  retorted  Tammas,  "having  eyes  you  see 
not." 

"  Tammas,  I  aye  thocht  you  was  fond  o'  Mr.  Dishart. " 

"If  my  right  eye  were  to  offend  me,"  answered  the 
precentor,  "  I  would  pluck  it  out.  I  suppose  you  think, 
and  baith  o'  you  farmers  too,  that  there's  no  necessity 
for  praying  for  rain  the  nicht?  You'll  be  content,  will 
ye,  if  Mr.  Dishart  just  drops  in  to  the  kirk  some  day, 
accidental -like,  and  offers  up  a  bit  prayer?" 

"As  for  the  rain,"  Spens  said,  triumphantly,  "I 
wouldna  wonder  though  it's  here  afore  the  minister. 
You  canna  deny,  Peter  Tosh,  that  there's  been  a  smell 
o*  rain  in  the  air  this  twa  hours  back." 

"John,"  Peter  said  agitatedly,  "dinna  speak  so  con- 
fidently. I've  kent  it,"  he  whispered,  "since  the  day 
turned ;  but  it  wants  to  tak'  us  by  surprise,  lad,  and  so 
I'm  no  letting  on." 

"  See  that  you  dinna  make  an  idol  o'  the  rain,"  thun- 
dered Whamond.  "Your  thochts  is  no  wi'  Him,  but 
\vi'  the  clouds;  and  whaur  your  thochts  are,  there  will 
your  prayers  stick  also. " 

"  If  you  saw  my  lambs, "  Tosh  began ;  and  then, 
ashamed  of  himself,  said,  looking  upward,  "  He  holds 
the  rain  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand." 

"And  He's  closing  His  neive  ticht  on't  again,"  said 
the  precentor  solemnly.  "  Hearken  to  the  wind  rising!  " 

"God  help  me!"  cried  Tosh,  wringing  his  hands. 
"  Is  it  fair,  think  you,"  he  said,  passionately  addressing 
the  sky,  "to  show  your  wrath  wi'  Mr.  Dishart  by  ruin- 
ing my  neeps?" 

"You  were  richt,  Tammas  Whamoud,"  Spens  said, 


266  3be  little  /ifcinfetcr. 

growing  hard  as  he  listened  to  the  wind,  "  the  sanctuary 
o'  the  Lord  has  been  profaned  this  nicht  by  him  wha 
should  be  the  chief  pillar  o'  the  building." 

They  were  lowering  brows  that  greeted  Hendry  when 
he  returned  to  say  that  Mr.  Dishart  had  been  seen  last 
•>n  the  hill  with  the  Glen  Quharity  dominie. 

"Some  thinks,"  said  the  kirk  officer,  "that  he's  awa 
hunting  for  Rob  Dow." 

"Nothmg'll  excuse  him,"  replied  Spens,  "short  o' 
his  having  fallen  over  the  quarry." 

Hendry's  was  usually  a  blank  face,  but  it  must  have 
looked  troubled  now,  for  Tosh  was  about  to  say, 
"Hendry,  you're  keeping  something  back,"  when  the 
precentor  said  it  before  him. 

"Wi'  that  story  o'  Mr.  Dishart's  murder,  no  many 
hours  auld  yet,"  the  kirk  officer  replied  evasively,  "we 
should  be  wary  o'  trusting  gossip." 

"  What  hae  you  heard?" 

"It's  through  the  town,"  Hendry  answered,  "that  a 
woman  was  wi'  the  dominie." 

"  A  woman !"  cried  Tosh.  "  The  woman  there's  been 
sic  talk  about  in  connection  wi'  the  minister?  Whaur 
are  they  now?" 

"  It's  no  kent,  but — the  dominie  was  seen  goin'  hame 
by  himsel'." 

"  Leaving  the  minister  and  her  thegither!"  cried  the 
three  men  at  once. 

"Hendry  Munn,"  Tammas  said  sternly,  "there's 
mair  about  this;  wha  is  the  woman?" 

"They  are  liars,"  Hendry  answered,  and  shut  his 
mouth  tight. 

"Gie  her  a  name,  I  say,"  the  precentor  ordered,  "or, 
as  chief  elder  of  this  kirk,  supported  by  mair  than 
half  o'  the  Session,  I  command  you  to  lift  your  hat 
and  go." 

Hendry  gave  an  appealing  look  to  Tosh  and  Spens, 
but  the  precentor's  solemnity  had  cowed  them. 


Hbe  /dceting  for  IRaln.  wn 

"They  say,  then,"  he  answered  sullenly,  "that  it's 
the  Egyptian.  Yes,  and  I  believe  they  ken. " 

The  two  farmers  drew  back  from  this  statement  in- 
credulously; but  Tammas  Whamond  jumped  at  the 
kirk  officer's  throat,  and  some  who  were  in  the  church 
that  night  say  they  heard  Hendry  scream.  Then  the 
precentor's  fingers  relaxed  their  grip,  and  he  tottered 
into  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Hendry,"  he  pleaded,  holding  out  his  arms  patheti- 
cally, "tak'  back  these  words.  Oh,  man,  have  pity, 
and  tak'  them  back!" 

But  Hendry  would  not,  and  then  Lang  Tammas's 
mouth  worked  convulsively,  and  he  sobbed,  crying, 
"  Nobody  kent  it,  but  mair  than  mortal  son,  O  God,  I 
did  love  the  lad!" 

So  seldom  in  a  lifetime  had  any  one  seen  into  this 
man's  heart  that  Spens  said,  amazed: 

"Tammas,  Tammas  Whamond,  it's  no  like  you  to 
break  down." 

The  rusty  door  of  Whamond's  heart  swung  to. 

"Who  broke  down?"  he  asked  fiercely.  "Let  no 
member  of  this  Session  dare  to  break  down  till  his 
work  be  done." 

"What  work?"  Tosh  said  uneasily.  "We  canna  in- 
terfere. " 

"  I  would  rather  resign,"  Spens  said,  but  shook  when 
Whamond  hurled  these  words  at  him: 

"'And  Jesus  said  unto  him,  No  man,  having  put  his 
hand  to  the  plough  and  looking  back,  is  fit  for  the  king- 
dom of  God. '  " 

"  It  mayna  be  true,"  Hendry  said  eagerly. 

"We'll  soon  see." 

"  He  would  gie  her  up,"  said  Tosh. 

"Peter  Tosh,"  answered  Whamond  sternly,  "I  call 
upon  you  to  dismiss  the  congregation. " 

"  Should  we  no  rather  hand  the  meeting  oursel's?" 

"  We  have  other  work  afore  us,"  replied  the  precentor. 
17 


3-w  Sbe  zittle  Ainfstet. 

"But  what  can  I  say?"  Tosh  asked  nervously. 
"  Should  I  offer  up  a  prayer?" 

"  I  warn  you  all,"  broke  in  Hendry,  "  that  though  the 
congregation  is  sitting  there  quietly,  they'll  be  tigers 
for  the  meaning  o'  this  as  soon  as  they're  in  the  street." 

"  Let  no  ontruth  be  telled  them,"  said  the  precentor. 
"  Peter  Tosh,  do  your  duty.  John  Spens,  remain  wi' 
me." 

The  church  emptied  silently,  but  a  buzz  of  excite- 
ment arose  outside.  Many  persons  tried  to  enter  the 
vestry,  but  were  ordered  away,  and  when  Tosh  joined 
his  fellow-elders  the  people  were  collecting  in  animated 
groups  in  the  square,  or  scattering  through  the  wynds 
for  news. 

"And  now,"  said  the  precentor,  "I  call  upon  the 
three  o'  you  to  come  wi'  me.  Hendry  Munn,  you  gang 
first." 

"I  maun  bide  ahint,"  Hendry  said,  with  a  sudden 
fear,  "to  lock  up  the  kirk." 

"  I'll  lock  up  the  kirk,"  Whamond  answered  harshly. 

"You  maun  gie  me  the  keys,  though,"  entreated  the 
kirk  officer. 

"  I'll  take  care  o'  the  keys,"  said  Whamond. 

"I  maun  hae  them,"  Hendry  said,  "to  open  the  kirk 
on  Sabbath." 

The  precentor  locked  the  doors,  and  buttoned  up  the 
keys  in  his  trousers  pockets. 

"Wha  kens,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  steel,  "that  the 
kirk'll  be  open  next  Sabbath?" 

"Hae  some  mercy  on  him,  Tammas,"  Spens  im- 
plored. "  He's  no  twa-and-twenty. " 

"Wha  kens,"  continued  the  precentor,  "but  that  the 
next  time  this  kirk  is  opened  will  be  to  preach  it  toom?" 

"  What  road  do  we  tak'?" 

"  The  road  to  the  hill,  whaur  he  was  seen  last" 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

VARIOUS  BODIES  CONVERGING   ON  THE  HILL 

IT  would  be  coming  on  for  a  quarter-past  nine,  and 
a  misty  night,  when  I  reached  the  school-house,  and  I 
was  so  weary  of  mind  and  body  that  I  sat  down  without 
taking  off  my  bonnet.  I  had  left  the  door  open,  and  I 
remember  listlessly  watching  the  wind  making  a  target 
of  my  candle,  but  never  taking  a  sufficiently  big  breath 
to  do  more  than  frighten  it.  From  this  lethargy  I  was 
roused  by  the  sound  of  wheels. 

In  the  daytime  our  glen  road  leads  to  many  parts, 
but  in  the  night  only  to  the  doctor's.  Then  the  gallop 
of  a  horse  makes  farmers  start  up  in  bed  and  cry, 
"Who's  ill?"  I  went  to  my  door  and  listened  to  the 
trap  coming  swiftly  down  the  lonely  glen,  but  I  could 
not  see  it,  for  there  was  a  trailing  scarf  of  mist  between 
the  school-house  and  the  road.  Presently  I  heard  the 
swish  of  the  wheels  in  water,  and  so  learned  that  they 
were  crossing  the  ford  to  come  to  me.  I  had  been  un- 
strung by  the  events  of  the  evening,  and  fear  at  once 
pressed  thick  upon  me  that  thi*  might  be  a  sequel  to 
them,  as  indeed  it  was. 

While  still  out  of  sight  the  trap  stopped,  and  I  heard 
some  one  jump  from  it.  Then  came  this  conversation, 
as  distinct  as  though  it  had  been  spoken  into  my  ear: 

"Can  you  see  the  school-house  now,  McKenzie?" 

"I  am  groping  for  it,  Rintonl.  The  mist  seems  to 
have  made  off  with  the  path." 

"Where  are  you,  McKenzie?  I  have  lost  sight  of 
you." 


260  abe  Xittle  /BMnteter. 

It  was  but  a  ribbon  of  mist,  and  as  these  words  were 
spoken  McKenzie  broke  through  it.  I  saw  him,  though 
to  him  I  was  only  a  stone  at  my  door. 

"I  have  found  the  house,  Rintoul,"  he  shouted,  "and 
there  is  a  light  in  it,  so  that  the  fellow  has  doubtless 
returned." 

"Then  wait  a  moment  for  me." 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  Rintoul,  I  entreat  you,  and 
leave  him  to  me.  He  may  recognize  you." 

"  No,  no,  McKenzie,  I  am  sure  he  never  saw  me  be- 
fore. I  insist  on  accompanying  you." 

"Your  excitement,  Rintoul,  will  betray  you.  Let 
me  go  alone.  I  can  question  him  without  rousing  his 
suspicions.  Remember,  she  is  only  a  gypsy  to  him." 

"  He  will  learn  nothing  from  me.  I  am  quite  calm 
now." 

"  Rintoul,  I  warn  you  your  manner  will  betray  you, 
and  to-morrow  it  will  be  roared  through  the  country- 
side that  your  bride  ran  away  from  the  Spittal  in  a 
gypsy  dress,  and  had  to  be  brought  back  by  force." 

The  altercation  may  have  lasted  another  minute,  but 
the  suddenness  with  which  I  learned  Babbie's  secret 
had  left  my  ears  incapable  of  learning  more.  I  daresay 
the  two  men  started  when  they  found  me  at  my  door, 
but  they  did  not  remember,  as  few  do  remember  who 
have  the  noisy  day  to  forget  it  in,  how  far  the  voice 
carries  in  the  night. 

They  came  as  suddenly  on  me  as  I  on  them,  for 
though  they  had  given  unintentional  notice  of  their 
approach,  I  had  lost  sight  of  the  speakers  in  their  amaz- 
ing words.  Only  a  moment  did  young  McKenzie's 
anxiety  to  be  spokesman  give  me  to  regard  Lord  Rin- 
toul. I  saw  that  he  was  a  thin  man  and  tall,  straight 
in  the  figure,  but  his  head  began  to  sink  into  his  shoul- 
ders and  not  very  steady  on  them.  His  teeth  had  grip 
of  his  under-lip,  as  if  this  was  a  method  of  controlling 
his  agitation,  and  he  was  opening  and  shutting  his 


Wartime  JBoMes  Converging.  261 

hands  restlessly.     He  had  a  dog  with  him  which  I  was 
to  meet  again. 

"Well  met,  Mr.  Ogilvy,"  said  McKenzie,  who  knew 
me  slightly,  having  once  acted  as  judge  at  a  cock-fight 
in  the  school-house.  "We  were  afraid  we  should  have 
to  rouse  you. " 

"You  will  step  inside?"  I  asked  awkwardly,  and 
while  I  spoke  I  was  wondering  how  long  it  would  be 
before  the  earl's  excitement  broke  out. 

"It  is  not  necessary,"  McKenzie  answered  hurriedly. 
"My  friend  and  I  (this  is  Mr.  McClure)  have  been 
caught  in  the  mist  without  a  lamp,  and  we  thought  you 
could  perhaps  favor  us  with  one." 

"Unfortunately  I  have  nothing  of  the  kind,"  I  said, 
and  the  state  of  mind  I  was  in  is  shown  by  my  answer- 
ing seriously. 

"  Then  we  must  wish  you  a  good-night  and  manage 
as  best  we  can,"  he  said;  and  then  before  he  could 
touch,  with  affected  indifference,  on  the  real  object  of 
their  visit,  the  alarmed  earl  said  angrily,  "  McKenzie, 
no  more  of  this." 

"No  more  of  this  delay,  do  you  mean,  McClure?" 
asked  McKenzie,  and  then,  turning  to  me  said,  "  By 
the  way,  Mr.  Ogilvy,  I  think  this  is  our  second  meeting 
to-night.  I  met  you  on  the  road  a  few  hours  ago  with 
your  wife.  Or  was  it  your  daughter?" 

"It  was  neither,  Mr.  McKenzie,"  I  answered,  with 
the  calmness  of  one  not  yet  recovered  from  a  shock. 
"  It  was  a  gypsy  girl." 

"Where  is  she  now?"  cried  Rintoul  feverishly;  but 
McKenzie,  speaking  loudly  at  the  same  time,  tried  to 
drown  his  interference  as  one  obliterates  writing  by 
writing  over  it. 

"A  strange  companion  for  a  schoolmaster,"  he  said. 
"  What  became  of  her?" 

"I  left  her  near  Cacldam  Wood,"  I  replied,  "but  she 
is  probably  not  there  now." 


262  Obe  OLIttlc  Minister. 

"Ah,  they  are  strange  creatures,  these  gypsies!"  he 
said,  casting  a  warning  look  at  the  earl.  "  Now  I  won- 
der where  she  had  been  bound  for." 

"There  is  a  gypsy  encampment  on  the  hill,"  I  an- 
swered, though  I  cannot  say  why. 

"She  is  there!"  exclaimed  Rintoul,  and  was  done 
with  me. 

"I  daresay,"  McKenzie  said  indifferently.  "How- 
ever, it  is  nothing  to  us.  Good-night,  sir." 

The  earl  had  started  for  the  trap,  but  McKenzie's 
salute  reminded  him  of  a  forgotten  courtesy,  and,  de- 
spite his  agitation,  he  came  back  to  apologize.  I  ad- 
mired him  for  this.  Then  my  thoughtlessness  must 
needs  mar  all. 

"Good-night,  Mr.  McKenzie,"  I  said.  "Good-night, 
Lord  Rintoul." 

I  had  addressed  him  by  his  real  name.  Never  a  tur- 
nip fell  from  a  bumping,  laden  cart,  and  the  driver 
more  unconscious  of  it,  than  I  that  I  had  dropped  that 
word.  I  re-entered  the  house,  but  had  not  reached  my 
chair  when  McKenzie's  hand  fell  roughly  on  me,  and  I 
was  swung  round. 

"Mr.  Ogilvy,"  he  said,  the  more  savagely  I  doubt 
not  because  his  passions  had  been  chained  so  long, 
"  you  know  more  than  you  would  have  us  think.  Be- 
ware, sir,  of  recognising  that  gypsy  should  you  ever 
see  her  again  in  different  attire.  I  advise  you  to  have 
forgotten  this  night  when  you  waken  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

With  a  menacing  gesture  he  left  me,  and  I  sank  into 
a  chair,  glad  to  lose  sight  of  the  glowering  eyes  with 
which  he  had  pinned  me  to  the  wall.  I  did  not  hear 
the  trap  cross  the  ford  and  renew  its  journey.  When  I 
looked  out  next,  the  night  had  fallen  very  dark,  and  the 
glen  was  so  deathly  in  its  drowsiness  that  I  thought 
not  even  the  cry  of  murder  could  tear  its  eyes  open. 

The  earl  and  McKenzie  would  be  some  distance  still 


\Pariou0  JBoOiea  Converging.  263 

from  the  hill  when  the  office-bearers  had  scoured  it  in 
vain  for  their  minister.  The  gypsies,  now  dancing 
round  their  fires  to  music  that,  on  ordinary  occasions, 
Lang  Tammas  would  have  stopped  by  using  his  fists  to 
the  glory  of  God,  had  seen  no  minister,  they  said,  and 
disbelieved  in  the  existence  of  the  mysterious  Egyptian. 

"  Liars  they  are  to  trade,"  Spens  declared  to  his  com- 
panions, "  but  now  and  again  they  speak  truth,  like  a 
standing  clock,  and  I'm  beginning  to  think  the  minis- 
ter's lassie  was  invented  in  the  square. " 

"Not  so,"  said  the  precentor,  "for  we  saw  her  our- 
sel's  a  short  year  syne,  and  Hendry  Munn  there  allows 
there's  townsfolk  that  hae  passed  her  in  the  glen  mair 
recently." 

"  I  only  allowed,"  Hendry  said  cautiously,  "  that  some 
sic  talk  had  shot  up  sudden-like  in  the  town.  Them 
that  pretends  they  saw  her  says  that  she  joukit  quick 
out  o'  sicht." 

"Ay,  and  there's  another  quirk  in  that,"  responded 
the  suspicious  precentor. 

"I'seuphaud  the  minister's  sitting  in  the  manse  in 
his  slippers  by  this  time,"  Hendry  said. 

"  I'm  willing,"  replied  Whamond,  "to  gang  back  and 
speir,  or  to  search  Caddam  next;  but  let  the  matter 
drop  I  winna,  though  I  ken  you're  a'  awid  to  be  hame 
now." 

"And  naturally,"  retorted  Tosh,  "for  the  nicht's 
coming  on  as  black  as  pick,  and  by  the  time  we're  at 
Caddam  we'll  no  even  see  the  trees." 

Toward  Caddam,  nevertheless,  they  advanced,  hear- 
ing nothing  but  a  distant  wind  and  the  whish  of  their 
legs  in  the  broom. 

"  Whaur's  John  Spens?"  Hendry  said  suddenly. 

They  turned  back  and  found  Spens  rooted  to  the 
ground,  as  a  boy  becomes  motionless  when  he  thinks 
he  is  within  arm's  reach  of  a  nest  and  the  bird  sitting 
on  the  eggs 


264  Gbe  Xittle  Minister. 

"What  do  you  see,  man?"  Hendry  whispered. 

"As  sure  as  death,"  answered  Spens,  awe-struck,  "I 
felt  a  drap  o'  rain." 

"It's  no  rain  we're  here  to  look  for,"  said  the  pre- 
centor. 

"Peter  Tosh,"  cried  Spens,  "it  was  a  drap!  Oh, 
Peter!  how  are  you  looking  at  me  so  queer,  Peter, 
when  you  should  be  thanking  the  Lord  for  the  promise 
that's  in  that  drap?" 

"Come  away,"  Whamond  said,  impatiently;  but 
Spens  answered,  "No  till  I've  offered  up  a  prayer  for 
the  promise  that's  in  that  drap.  Peter  Tosh,  you've 
forgotten  to  take  off  your  bonnet. " 

"Think  twice,  John  Spens,"  gasped  Tosh,  "afore  you 
pray  for  rain  this  nicht. " 

The  others  thought  him  crazy,  but  he  went  on,  with 
a  catch  in  his  voice : 

"I  felt  a  drap  o'  rain  mysel',  just  afore  it  came  on 
dark  so  hurried,  and  my  first  impulse  was  to  wish  that 
I  could  carry  that  drap  about  wi"  me  and  look  at  it. 
But,  John  Spens,  when  I  looked  up  I  saw  sic  a  change 
running  ower  the  sky  that  I  thocht  hell  had  taen  the 
place  o'  heaven,  and  that  there  was  waterspouts  gath- 
ering therein  for  the  drowning  o'  the  world." 

"  There's  no  water  in  hell,"  the  precentor  said  grimly. 

"Genesis  ix.,"  said  Spens,  "verses  8  to  17.  Ay,  but, 
Peter,  you've  startled  me,  and  I'm  thinking  we  should 
be  stepping  hame.  Is  that  a  licht?" 

"It'll  be  in  Nanny  Webster's,"  Hendry  said,  after 
they  had  all  regarded  the  light. 

"  I  never  heard  that  Nanny  needed  a  candle  to  licht 
her  to  her  bed,"  the  precentor  muttered. 

"  She  was  awa  to  meet  Sanders  the  day  as  he  came 
out  o'  the  Tilliedrum  gaol,"  Spens  remembered,  "and 
I  daresay  the  licht  means  they're  hame  again." 

"  It's  well  kent — "  began  Hendry,  and  would  hav« 
recalled  his  words. 


\yactou0  JEoDics  Conversing.  265 

"  Hendry  Munn,"  cried  the  precentor,  "if  you  hae 
minded  ony thing  that  may  help  us,  out  wi't." 

"I  was  just  minding,"  the  kirk  officer  answered  re- 
luctantly, "  that  Nanny  allows  it's  Mr.  Dishart  that  has 
been  keeping  her  frae  the  poorhouse.  You  canna  cen- 
sure him  for  that,  Tammas." 

"  Can  I  no?"  retorted  Whamond.  "  What  business 
has  he  to  befriend  a  woman  that  belongs  to  another 
denomination?  I'll  see  to  the  bottom  o*  that  this 
nicht.  Lads,  follow  me  to  Nanny's,  and  dinna  be 
surprised  if  we  find  baith  the  minister  and  the  Egyptian 
there." 

They  had  not  advanced  many  yards  when  Spens 
jumped  to  the  side,  crying,  "  Be  wary,  that's  no  the 
wind;  it's  a  machine!" 

Immediately  the  doctor's  dogcart  was  close  to  them, 
with  Rob  Dow  for  its  only  occupant.  He  was  driving 
slowly,  or  Whamond  could  not  have  escaped  the  horse's 
hoofs. 

"Is  that  you,  Rob  Dow?"  said  the  precentor  sourly. 
"  I  tell  you,  you'll  be  gaoled  for  stealing  the  doctor's 
machine." 

"  The  Hielandman  wasna  muckle  hurt,  Rob,"  Hendry 
said,  more  good-naturedly. 

"  I  ken  that,"  replied  Rob,  scowling  at  the  four  of 
them.  "  What  are  you  doing  here  on  sic  a  nicht?" 

"  Do  you  see  anything  strange  in  the  nicht,  Rob?" 
Tosh  asked  apprehensively. 

"  It's  setting  to  rain,"  Dow  replied.  "  I  dinna  see  it, 
but  I  feel  it." 

"Ay,"  said  Tosh,  eagerly,  "but  will  it  be  a  saft, 
cowdie  sweet  ding-on?" 

"Let  the  heavens  open  if  they  will,"  interposed 
Spens  recklessly.  "  I  would  swap  the  drought  for  rain, 
though  it  comes  down  in  a  sheet  as  in  the  year  twelve." 

"And  like  a  sheet  it'll  come,"  replied  Dow,  "and  the 
deiril  blaw  it  about  wi'  his  biggest  bellowses." 


266  Gbe  Xittle  rtiintster. 

Tosh  shivered,  but  Whamond  shook  him  roughly, 
saying — 

"  Keep  your  oaths  to  yoursel',  Rob  Dow,  and  tell  me, 
hae  you  seen  Mr.  Dishart?" 

"I  hinna,"  Rob  answered  curtly,  preparing  to  drive 
on. 

"  Nor  the  lassie  they  call  the  Egyptian?" 

Rob  leaped  from  the  dogcart,  crying,  "  What  does 
that  mean?" 

"  Hands  off,"  said  the  precentor,  retreating  from  him. 
"  It  means  that  Mr.  Dishart  neglected  the  prayer-meet- 
ing this  nicht  to  philander  after  that  heathen  woman." 

"We're  no  sure  o't,  Tammas,"  remonstrated  the  kirk 
officer.  Dow  stood  quite  still.  "  I  believe  Rob  kens 
it's  true, "*Hendry  added  sadly,  "or  he  would  hae  flown 
at  your  throat,  Tammas  Whamond,  for  saying  these 
words. " 

Even  this  did  not  rouse  Dow. 

"  Rob  doesna  worship  the  minister  as  he  used  to  do," 
said  Spens. 

"  And  what  for  no?"  cried  the  precentor.  "  Rob  Dow, 
is  it  because  you've  found  out  about  this  woman?" 

"You're  a  pack  o'  liars,"  roared  Rob,  desperately, 
"  and  if  you  say  again  that  ony  wandering  hussy  has 
baud  o'  the  minister,  I'll  let  you  see  whether  I  can  loup 
at  throats." 

"You'll  swear  by  the  Book,"  asked  Whamond,  re- 
lentlessly,  "that  you've  seen  neither  o'  them  this 
nicht,  nor  them  thegither  at  any  time?" 

"I  so  swear  by  the  Book,"  answered  poor  loyal  Rob. 
"  But  what  makes  you  look  for  Mr.  Dishart  here?"  he 
demanded,  with  an  uneasy  look  at  the  light  in  the  mud- 
house. 

"Go  hame,"  replied  the  precentor,  "and  deliver  up 
the  machine  you  stole,  and  leave  this  Session  to  do  its 
duty.  John,  we  maun  fathom  the  meaning  o'  that 
licht." 


\Daciou8  JBo&fes  Converging.  267 

Dow  started,  and  was  probably  at  that  moment  with- 
in an  ace  of  felling  Whamond. 

"I'll  come  wi'  you,"  he  said,  hunting  in  his  mind 
for  a  better  way  of  helping  Gavin. 

They  were  at  Nanny's  garden,  but  in  the  darkness 
Whamond  could  not  find  the  gate.  Rob  climbed  the 
paling,  and  was  at  once  lost  sight  of.  Then  they  saw 
his  head  obscure  the  window.  They  did  not,  however, 
hear  the  groan  that  startled  Babbie. 

"There's  nobody  there,"  he  said,  coming  back,  "but 
Nanny  and  Sanders.  You'll  mind  Sanders  was  to  be 
freed  the  day." 

"I'll  go  in  and  see  Sanders,"  said  Hendry,  but  the 
precentor  pulled  him  back,  saying,  "  You'll  do  nothing 
o'  the  kind,  Hendry  Munn ;  you'll  come  awa  wi'  me 
now  to  the  manse." 

"It's  mair  than  me  and  Peter '11  do,  then,"  said 
Spens,  who  had  been  consulting  with  the  other  farmer. 
"We're  gaun  as  straucht  hame  as  the  darkness  '11  let 
us." 

With  few  more  words  the  Session  parted,  Spens  and 
Tosh  setting  off  for  their  farms,  and  Hendry  accom- 
panying the  precentor.  No  one  will  ever  know  where 
Dow  went.  I  can  fancy  him,  however,  returning  to 
the  wood,  and  there  drawing  rein.  I  can  fancy  his 
mind  made  up  to  watch  the  mudhouse  until  Gavin  and 
the  gypsy  separated,  and  then  pounce  upon  her.  I 
daresay  his  whole  plot  could  be  condensed  into  a  sen- 
tence, "  If  she's  got  rid  o'  this  nicht,  we  may  cheat  the 
Session  yet."  But  this  is  mere  surmise.  All  I  know 
is  that  he  waited  near  Nanny's  house,  and  by  and  by 
heard  another  trap  coming  up  Windyghoul.  That  was 
just  before  the  ten  o'clock  bell  began  to  ring. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

LEADING  SWIFTLY  TO  THE  APPALLING  MARRIAGE. 

THE  little  minister  bowed  his  head  in  assent  when 
Babbie's  cry,  "  Oh,  Gavin,  do  you?"  leapt  in  front  of 
her  unselfish  wish  that  he  should  care  for  her  no  more. 

"  But  that  matters  very  little  now,"  he  said. 

She  was  his  to  do  with  as  he  willed ;  and,  perhaps,  the 
joy  of  knowing  herself  loved  still,  begot  a  wild  hope 
that  he  would  refuse  to  give  her  up.  If  so,  these  words 
laid  it  low,  but  even  the  sentence  they  passed  upon  her 
could  not  kill  the  self-respect  that  would  be  hers  hence- 
forth. "  That  matters  very  little  now, "  the  man  said, 
but  to  the  woman  it  seemed  to  matter  more  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  world. 

Throughout  the  remainder  of  this  interview  until  the 
end  came,  Gavin  never  faltered.  His  duty  and  hers  lay 
so  plainly  before  him  that  there  could  be  no  straying 
from  it.  Did  Babbie  think  him  strangely  calm?  At 
the  Glen  Quharity  gathering  I  once  saw  Rob  Angus 
lift  a  boulder  with  such  apparent  ease  that  its  weight 
was  discredited,  until  the  cry  arose  that  the  effort  had 
dislocated  his  arm.  Perhaps  Gavin's  quietness  de- 
ceived the  Egyptian  similarly.  Had  he  stamped,  she 
might  have  understood  better  what  he  suffered,  stand- 
ing there  on  the  hot  embers  of  his  passion. 

"We  must  try  to  make  amends  now,"  he  said 
gravely,  "for  the  wrong  we  have  done." 

"  The  wrong  I  have  done, "  she  said,  correcting  him. 
"  You  will  make  it  harder  for  me  if  you  blame  your- 
self. How  vile  I  was  in  those  days!" 


to  tbc  appalling  /Carriage.  269 

"Those  days,"  she  called  them,  they  seemed  so  far 
away. 

"Do  not  cry,  Babbie,"  Gavin  replied,  gently.  "He 
knew  what  you  were,  and  why,  and  He  pities  you. 
'For  His  anger  endureth  but  a  moment:  in  His  favor 
is  life :  weeping  may  endure  for  a  night,  but  joy  cometh 
in  the  morning.'  " 

"Not  tome." 

"Yes,  to  you,"  he  answered.  "Babbie,  you  will  re- 
turn to  the  Spittal  now,  and  tell  Lord  Rintoul  every- 
thing." 

"  If  you  wish  it. " 

"  Not  because  I  wish  it,  but  because  it  is  right.  He 
must  be  told  that  you  do  not  love  him." 

"I  never  pretended  to  him  that  I  did,"  Babbie  said, 
looking  up.  "Oh,"  she  added,  with  emphasis,  "he 
knows  that.  He  thinks  me  incapable  of  caring  for  any 
one." 

"And  that  is  why  he  must  be  told  of  me,"  Gavin  re- 
plied. "  You  are  no  longer  the  woman  you  were,  Bab- 
bie, and  you  know  it,  and  I  know  it,  but  he  does  not 
know  it.  He  shall  know  it  before  he  decides  whether 
he  is  to  marry  you." 

Babbie  looked  at  Gavin,  and  wondered  he  did  not  see 
that  this  decision  lay  with  him. 

"Nevertheless,"  she  said,  "the  wedding  will  take 
place  to-morrow;  if  it  did  not,  Lord  Rintoul  would  be 
the  scorn  of  his  friends." 

"If  it  does,"  the  minister  answered,  "he  will  be  the 
scorn  of  himself.  Babbie,  there  is  a  chance." 

"There  is  no  chance,"  she  told  him.  "I  shall  be 
back  at  the  Spittal  without  any  one's  knowing  of  my 
absence,  and  when  I  begin  to  tell  him  of  you,  he  will 
tremble,  lest  it  means  my  refusal  to  marry  him ;  when 
he  knows  it  does  not,  he  will  wonder  only  why  I  told 
him  anything." 

"  He  will  ask  you  to  take  time " 


:?o  ttbe  little  flMnteter. 

"  No,  he  will  ask  me  to  put  on  my  wedding-dress. 
You  must  not  think  anything  else  possible." 

"  So  be  it,  then,"  Gavin  said  firmly. 

"Yes,  it  will  be  better  so,"  Babbie  answered,  and 
then,  seeing  him  misunderstand  her  meaning,  exclaimed 
reproachfully,  "  I  was  not  thinking  of  myself.  In  the 
time  to  come,  whatever  be  my  lot,  I  shall  have  the  one 
consolation,  that  this  is  best  >for  you.  Think  of  your 
mother." 

"  She  will  love  you,"  Gavin  said,  "when  I  tell  her  of 
you. " 

"  Yes, "  said  Babbie,  wringing  her  hands ;  "  she  will 
almost  love  me,  but  for  what?  For  not  marrying  you. 
That  is  the  only  reason  any  one  in  Thrums  will  have 
for  wishing  me  well. " 

"No  others,"  Gavin  answered,  "will  ever  know  why 
I  remained  unmarried." 

"  Will  you  never  marry?"  Babbie  asked,  exultingly. 
"Ah!"  she  cried,  ashamed,  "but  you  must." 

"Never." 

Well,  many  a  man  and  many  a  woman  has  made  that 
vow  in  similar  circumstances,  and  not  all  have  kept  it. 
But  shall  we  who  are  old  smile  cynically  at  the  brief 
and  burning  passion  of  the  young?  "The  day,"  you 
say,  "  will  come  when — "  Good  sir,  hold  your  peace. 
Their  agony  was  great  and  now  is  dead,  and,  maybe, 
they  have  forgotten  where  it  lies  buried;  but  dare  you 
answer  lightly  when  I  ask  you  which  of  these  things  is 
saddest? 

Babbie  believed  his  "  Never,"  and,  doubtless,  thought 
no  worse  of  him  for  it ;  but  she  saw  no  way  of  comfort- 
ing him  save  by  disparagement  of  herself. 

"You  must  think  of  your  congregation,"  she  said. 
"  A  minister  with  a  gypsy  wife " 

"  Would  have  knocked  them  about  with  a  flail,"  Gavin 
interposed,  showing  his  teeth  at  the  thought  of  the  pre- 
centor, "  until  they  did  her  reverence. " 


Xea&fng  to  tbc  Bppatlfng  /fcarrfage.  271 

She  shook  her  head,  and  told  him  of  her  meeting 
with  Micah  Dow.  It  silenced  him;  not,  however,  on 
account  of  its  pathos,  as  she  thought,  but  because  it  in- 
terpreted the  riddle  of  Rob's  behavior. 

"Nevertheless,"  he  said  ultimately,  "my  duty  is  not 
to  do  what  is  right  in  my  people's  eyes,  but  what  seems 
right  in  my  own." 

Babbie  had  not  heard  him. 

"I  saw  a  face  at  the  window  just  now,"  she  whis- 
pered, drawing  closer  to  him. 

"  There  was  no  face  there ;  the  very  thought  of  Rob 
Dow  raises  him  before  you,"  Gavin  answered  reassur- 
ingly, though  Rob  was  nearer  at  that  moment  than 
either  of  them  thought. 

"I  must  go  away  at  once,"  she  said,  still  with  her 
eyes  on  the  window.  "  No,  no,  you  shall  not  come  or 
stay  with  me;  it  is  you  who  are  in  danger." 

"  Do  not  fear  for  me. " 

"  I  must,  if  you  will  not.  Before  you  came  in,  did  I 
not  hear  you  speak  of  a  meeting  you  had  to  attend 
to-night?" 

"My  pray — "  His  teeth  met  on  the  word;  so 
abruptly  did  it  conjure  up  the  forgotten  prayer- 
meeting  that  before  the  shock  could  reach  his  mind 
he  stood  motionless,  listening  for  the  bell.  For  one 
instant  all  that  had  taken  place  since  he  last  heard 
it  might  have  happened  between  two  of  its  tinkles; 
Babbie  passed  from  before  him  like  a  figure  in  a 
panorama,  and  he  saw,  instead,  a  congregation  in  their 
pews. 

"  What  do  you  see?"  Babbie  cried  in  alarm,  for  he 
seemed  to  be  gazing  at  the  window. 

"Only  you,"  he  replied,  himself  again;  "I  am  com- 
ing with  you." 

"You  must  let  me  go  alone,"  she  entreated;  "if  not 
for  your  own  safety" — but  it  was  only  him  she  consid- 
ered— "  then  for  the  sake  of  Lord  Rintoul.  Were  you 


272  ttbe  Xittle  flMntster. 

and  I  to  be  seen  together  now,  his  name  and  mine 
might  suffer. " 

It  was  an  argument  the  minister  could  not  answer 
save  by  putting  his  hands  over  his  face ;  his  distress 
made  Babbie  strong ;  she  moved  to  the  door,  trying  to 
smile. 

"Go,  Babbie!"  Gavin  said,  controlling  his  voice, 
though  it  had  been  a  smile  more  pitiful  than  her  tears. 
"  God  has  you  in  His  keeping;  it  is  not  His  will  to  give 
me  this  to  bear  for  you. " 

They  were  now  in  the  garden. 

"  Do  not  think  of  me  as  unhappy,"  she  said ;  "  it  will 
be  happiness  to  me  to  try  to  be  all  you  would  have  me 
be." 

He  ought  to  have  corrected  her.  "All  that  God 
would  have  me  be,"  is  what  she  should  have  said.  But 
he  only  replied,  "  You  will  be  a  good  woman,  and  none 
such  can  be  altogether  unhappy;  God  sees  to  that." 

He  might  have  kissed  her,  and  perhaps  she  thought 
so. 

"I  am — I  am  going  now,  dear,"  she  said,  and  came 
back  a  step  because  he  did  not  answer ;  then  she  went 
on,  and  was  out  of  his  sight  at  three  yards'  distance. 
Neither  of  them  heard  the  approaching  dogcart. 

"You  see,  I  am  bearing  it  quite  cheerfully,"  she  said. 
"  I  shall  have  everything  a  woman  loves ;  do  not  grieve 
for  me  so  much. " 

Gavin  dared  not  speak  nor  move.  Never  had  he 
found  life  so  hard ;  but  he  was  fighting  with  the  ignoble 
in  himself,  and  winning.  She  opened  the  gate,  and  it 
might  have  been  a  signal  to  the  dogcart  to  stop.  They 
both  heard  a  dog  barking,  and  then  the  voice  of  Lord 
Rintoul: 

"That  is  a  light  in  the  window.  Jump  down,  Mc- 
Kenzie,  and  inquire." 

Gavin  took  one  step  nearer  Babbie  and  stopped. 
He  did  not  see  how  all  her  courage  went  from  her,  so 


Xea&fng  to  tbc  appalling  flbarriage.  273 

;hat  her  knees  yielded,  and  she  held  out  her  arms  to 
him,  but  he  heard  a  great  sob  and  then  his  name. 

"Gavin,  I  am  afraid." 

Gavin  understood  now,  and  I  say  he  would  have  been 
no  man  to  leave  her  after  that;  only  a  moment  was 
allowed  him,  and  it  was  their  last  chance  on  earth.  He 
took  it.  His  arm  went  round  his  beloved,  and  he  drew 
her  away  from  Nanny's. 

McKenzie  found  both  house  and  garden  empty. 
"  And  yet,"  he  said,  "  I  swear  some  one  passed  the  win- 
dow as  we  sighted  it." 

"Waste  no  more  time,"  cried  the  impatient  earl. 
"  We  must  be  very  near  the  hill  now.  You  will  have 
to  lead  the  horse,  McKenzie,  in  this  darkness;  the  dog 
may  find  the  way  through  the  broom  for  us." 

"The  dog  has  run  on,"  McKenzie  replied,  now  in  an 
evil  temper.  "Who  knows,  it  may  be  with  her  now? 
So  we  must  feel  our  way  cautiously ;  there  is  no  call  for 
capsizing  the  trap  in  our  haste. "  But  there  was  call 
for  haste  if  they  were  to  reach  the  gypsy  encampment 
before  Gavin  and  Babbie  were  made  man  and  wife  over 
the  tongs. 

The  Spittal  dogcart  rocked  as  it  dragged  its  way 
through  the  broom.  Rob  Dow  followed.  The  ten 
o'clock  bell  began  to  ring. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

WHILE  THE  TEN  O'CLOCK  BELL  WAS  RINGING. 

In  the  square  and  wynds — weavers  in  groups  : 

"  No,  no,  Davit,  Mr.  Dishart  hadna  felt  the  blow  the 
piper  gave  him  till  he  ascended  the  pulpit  to  conduct 
the  prayer-meeting  for  rain,  and  then  he  fainted  awa. 
Tammas  Whamond  and  Peter  Tosh  carried  him  to  the 
Session-house.  Ay,  an  awful  scene." 

"  How  did  the  minister  no  come  to  the  meeting?  I 
wonder  how  you  could  expect  it,  Snecky,  and  his  mother 
taen  so  suddenly  ill ;  he's  at  her  bedside,  but  the  doctor 
has  little  hope. " 

"This  is  what  has  occurred,  Tailor:  Mr.  Dishart 
never  got  the  length  of  the  pulpit.  He  fell  in  a  swound 
on  the  vestry  floor.  What  caused  it?  Oh,  nothing  but 
the  heat.  Thrums  is  so  dry  that  one  spark  would  set  it 
in  a  blaze." 

"  I  canna  get  at  the  richts  o1  what  keeped  him  frae 
the  meeting,  Femie,  but  it  had  something  to  do  wi'  an 
Egyptian  on  the  hill.  Very  like  he  had  been  trying  to 
stop  the  gypsy  marriage  there.  I  gaed  to  the  manse  to 
speir  at  Jean  what  was  wrang,  but  I'm  thinking  I  telled 
her  mair  than  she  could  tell  me." 

"  Man,  man,  Andrew,  the  wite  o't  lies  wi'  Peter 
Tosh.  He  thocht  we  was  to  hae  sic  a  terrible  rain  that 
he  implored  the  minister  no  to  pray  for  it,  and  so  angry 
was  Mr.  Dishart  that  he  ordered  the  whole  Session  out 
o*  the  kirk.  I  saw  them  in  Couthie's  close,  and  michty 
dour  they  looked." 


Gbe  {Ten  o'Cloch  3BelC  273 

"  Yes,  as  sure  as  death,  Tammas  Whamond  locked 
the  kirk-door  in  Mr.  Dishart's  face." 

"I'm  a'  shaking!  And  small  wonder,  Marget,  when 
I've  heard  this  minute  that  Mr.  Dishart's  been  struck 
by  lichtning  while  looking  for  Rob  Dow.  He's  no 
killed,  but,  woe's  me!  they  say  he'll  never  preach 
again." 

"  Nothing  o'  the  kind.  It  was  Rob  that  the  lichtning 
struck  dead  in  the  doctor's  machine.  The  horse  wasna 
touched;  it  came  tearing  down  the  Roods  wi'  the  corpse 
sitting  in  the  machine  like  a  living  man." 

"What  are  you  listening  to,  woman?  Is  it  to  a  dog 
barking?  I've  heard  it  this  while,  but  it's  far  awa," 

In  the  manse  kitchen: 

"Jean,  did  you  not  hear  me  ring?  I  want  you  to— 
Why  are  you  staring  out  at  the  window,  Jean?" 

"  I — I  was  just  hearkening  to  the  ten  o'clock  bell, 
ma'am." 

"  I  never  saw  you  doing  nothing  before !  Put  the 
heater  in  the  fire,  Jean.  I  want  to  iron  the  minister's 
neckcloths.  The  prayer-meeting  is  long  in  coming  out, 
is  it  not?" 

"  The — the  drouth,  ma'am,  has  been  so  cruel  hard. " 

"And,  to  my  shame,  I  am  so  comfortable  that  l 
almost  forgot  how  others  are  suffering.  But  my  son 
never  forgets,  Jean.  You  are  not  crying,  are  you?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  Bring  the  iron  to  the  parlor,  then.  And  if  the 
minis —  Why  did  you  start,  Jean?  I  onl)7  heard  a  dog 
barking." 

"  I  thocht,  ma'am — at  first  I  thocht  it  was  Mr.  Dishart 
opening  the  door.  Ay,  it's  just  a  dog ;  some  gypsy  dog 
on  the  hill,  I'm  thinking,  for  sound  would  carry  far  the 
nicht." 

"  Even  you,  Jean,  are  nervous  at  nights,  I  see,   if 


ttbe  Xittlc  Minister. 

th?re  is  no  man  in  the  house.  We  shall  hear  no  more 
distant  dogs  barking,  I  warrant,  when  the  minister 
comes  home." 

"When  he  conies  home,  ma'am." 

On  the  middle  of  a  hill — a  man  and  a  woman: 

"Courage,  beloved;  we  are  nearly  there." 

"But,  Gavin,  I  cannot  see  the  encampment." 

"  The  night  is  too  dark. " 

"  But  the  gypsy  fires?" 

"They  are  in  the  Toad's-hole." 

"Listen  to  that  dog  barking." 

"  There  are  several  dogs  at  the  encampment,  Babbie." 

"There  is  one  behind  us.     See,  there  it  is!" 

"  I  have  driven  it  away,  dear.     You  are  trembling." 

"  What  we  are  doing  frightens  me,  Gavin.  It  is  at 
your  heels  again!" 

"  It  seems  to  know  you." 

"  Oh,  Gavin,  it  is  Lord  Rintoul's  collie  Snap.  It  will 
bite  you." 

"  No,  I  have  driven  it  back  again.  Probably  the  earl 
is  following  us." 

"Gavin,  I  cannot  go  on  with  this." 

"Quicker,  Babbie." 

"Leave  me,  dear,  and  save  yourself." 

"Lean  on  me,  Babbie." 

"  Oh,  Gavin,  is  there  no  way  but  this?" 

"  No  sure  way. " 

"Even  though  we  are  married  to-night " 

"We  shall  be  maried  in  five  minutes,  and  then, 
whatever  befall,  he  cannot  have  you." 

"  But  after?" 

"  I  will  take  you  straight  to  the  manse,  to  my 
mother." 

"  Were  it  not  for  that  dog,  I  should  think  we  were 
alone  on  the  hill." 


Gen  o' Clock  JBelL  877 

"But  we  are  not.     See,  there  are  the  gypsy  fires." 
On  the  west  side  of  the  hill — two  figures  : 

"  Tammas,  Tammas  Whamond,  I've  lost  you.  Should 
we  gang  to  the  manse  down  the  fields?" 

"Wheesht,  Hendry!" 

"  What  are  you  listening  for?" 

"  I  heard  a  dog  barking. " 

"  Only  a  gypsy  dog,  Tammas,  barking  at  the  coming 
storm. " 

"  The  gypsy  dogs  are  all  tied  up,  and  this  one's  atween 
us  and  the  Toad's-hole.  What  was  that?" 

"  It  was  nothing  but  the  rubbing  of  the  branches  in 
the  cemetery  on  ane  another.  It's  said,  trees  mak* 
that  fearsome  sound  when  they're  terrified." 

"  It  was  a  dog  barking  at  somebody  that's  stoning  it. 
I  ken  that  sound,  Hendry  Munn." 

"  May  I  die  the  death,  Tammas  Whamond,  if  a  great 
drap  o'  rain  didna  strike  me  the  now,  and  I  swear  it 
was  warm.  I'm  for  running  hame." 

"  I'm  for  seeing  who  drove  awa  that  dog.  Come  back 
wi'  me,  Hendry." 

"  I  winna.  There's  no  a  soul  on  the  hill  but  you  and 
me  and  thae  daffing  and  drinking  gypsies.  How  do 
you  no  answer  me,  Tammas?  Hie,  Tammas  Whamond, 
whaur  are  you?  He's  gone!  Ay,  then  I'll  mak' tracks 
hame." 

2n  the  broom — a  dogcart : 

"  Do  you  see  nothing  yet,  McKenzie?" 

"  Scarce  the  broom  at  my  knees,  Rintoul.  There  is 
not  a  light  on  the  hill." 

"  McKenzie,  can  that  schoolmaster  have  deceived  us?" 

"It  is  probable." 

"  Urge  on  the  horse,  however.  There  is  a  road 
through  the  broom,  I  know.  Have  we  stuck  again?" 


278  tTbc  Tittle  fl&inistcr, 

"  Rintoul,  she  is  not  here.  I  promised  to  help  you  to 
bring  her  back  to  the  Spittal  before  this  escapade  be- 
came known,  but  we  have  failed  to  find  her.  If  she  is 
to  be  saved,  it  must  be  by  herself.  I  daresay  she  has 
returned  already.  Let  me  turn  the  horse's  head. 
There  is  a  storm  brewing." 

"  I  will  search  this  gypsy  encampment  first,  if  it  is  on 
the  hill.  Hark!  that  was  a  dog's  bark.  Yes,  it  is 
Snap ;  but  he  would  not  bark  at  nothing.  Why  do  you 
look  behind  you  so  often,  McKenzie?" 

"  For  some  time,  Rintoul,  it  has  seemed  to  me  that 
we  are  being  followed.  Listen!" 

"  I  hear  nothing.  At  last,  McKenzie,  at  last,  we  are 
out  of  the  broom. " 

"And  as  I  live,  Rintoul,  I  see  the  gypsy  lights!" 

It  might  have  been  a  lantern  that  was  flashed  across 
the  hill.  Then  all  that  part  of  the  world  went  suddenly 
on  fire.  Everything  was  horribly  distinct  in  that  white 
light.  The  firs  of  Caddam  were  so  near  that  it  seemed 
to  have  arrested  them  in  a  silent  march  upon  the  hill. 
The  grass  would  not  hide  a  pebble.  The  ground  was 
scored  with  shadows  of  men  and  things.  Twice  the 
light  flickered  and  recovered  itself.  A  red  serpent  shot 
across  it,  and  then  again  black  night  fell. 

The  hill  had  been  illumined  thus  for  nearly  half  a 
minute.  During  that  time  not  even  a  dog  stirred. 
The  shadows  of  human  beings  lay  on  the  ground  as 
motionless  as  logs.  What  had  been  revealed  seemed 
less  a  gypsy  marriage  than  a  picture.  Or  was  it  that 
during  the  ceremony  every  person  on  the  hill  had  been 
turned  into  stone?  The  gypsy  king,  with  his  arm  up- 
raised, had  not  had  time  to  let  it  fall.  The  men  and 
women  behind  him  had  their  mouths  open,  as  if  struck 
when  on  the  point  of  calling  out.  Lord  Rintoul  had 
risen  in  the  dogcart  and  was  leaning  forward.  One  of 
McKenzie's  feet  was  on  the  shaft.  The  man  crouching 


fcbe  Sen  o'Cloch  JBell.  27fi 

In  the  dogcart's  wake  had  flung  up  his  hands  to  protect 
his  face.  The  precentor,  his  neck  outstretched,  had  a 
hand  on  each  knee.  All  eyes  were  fixed,  as  in  the  death 
glare,  on  Gavin  and  Babbie,  who  stood  before  the  king, 
their  hands  clasped  over  the  tongs.  Fear  was  petrified 
on  the  woman's  face,  determination  on  the  man's. 

They  were  all  released  by  the  crack  of  the  thunder, 
but  for  another  moment  none  could  have  swaggered. 

"That  was  Lord  Rintoul  in  the  dogcart,"  Babbie 
whispered,  drawing  in  her  breath. 

"Yes,  dear,"  Gavin  answered  resolutely,  "and  now  is 
the  time  for  me  to  have  my  first  and  last  talk  with  him. 
Remain  here,  Babbie.  Do  not  move  till  I  come  back." 

"  But,  Gavin,  he  has  seen.     I  fear  him  still." 

"  He  cannot  touch  you  now,  Babbie.  You  are  my 
wife." 

In  the  vivid  light  Gavin  had  thought  the  dogcart 
much  nearer  than  it  was.  He  called  Lord  Rintoul's 
name,  but  got  no  answer.  There  were  shouts  behind, 
gypsies  running  from  the  coming  rain,  dogs  whining, 
but  silence  in  front.  The  minister  moved  on  some 
paces.  Away  to  the  left  he  heard  voices — 

"Who  was  the  man,  McKenzie?" 

"  My  lord,  I  have  lost  sight  of  you.  This  is  not  the 
way  to  the  camp. " 

"  Tell  me,  McKenzie,  that  you  did  not  see  what  I  saw." 

"  Rintoul,  I  beseech  you  to  turn  back.  We  are  too 
late." 

"We  are  not  too  late." 

Gavin  broke  through  the  darkness  between  them  anc! 
him,  but  they  were  gone.  He  called  to  them,  and 
stopped  to  listen  to  their  feet. 

"  Is  that  you,  Gavin?"  Babbie  asked  just  then. 

For  reply,  the  man  who  had  crept  up  to  her  clapped 
his  hand  upon  her  mouth.  Only  the  beginning  of  a 
scream  escaped  from  her.  A  strong  arm  drove  her 
quickly  southward. 


280  Gbe  little  Minister. 

Gavin  heard  her  cry,  and  ran  back  to  the  encamp- 
ment.  Babbie  was  gone.  None  of  the  gypsies  had  seen 
her  since  the  darkness  came  back.  He  rushed  hither 
and  thither  with  a  torch  that  only  showed  his  distracted 
face  to  others.  He  flung  up  his  arms  in  appeal  for  an- 
other moment  of  light ;  then  he  heard  Babbie  scream 
again,  and  this  time  it  was  from  a  distance.  He  dashed 
after  her;  he  heard  a  trap  speeding  down  the  green 
sward  through  the  broom. 

Lord  Rintoul  had  kidnapped  Babbie.  Gavin  had  no 
other  thought  as  he  ran  after  the  dogcart  from  which 
the  cry  had  come.  The  earl's  dog  followed  him,  snap- 
ping at  his  heels.  The  rain  began. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

THE  GREAT  RAIN. 

GAVIN  passed  on  through  Windyghoul,  thinking  in 
his  frenzy  that  he  still  heard  the  trap.  In  a  rain  that 
came  down  like  iron  rods  every  other  sound  was  beaten 
dead.  He  slipped,  and  before  he  could  regain  his  feet 
the  dog  bit  him.  To  protect  himself  from  dikes  and 
trees  and  other  horrors  of  the  darkness  he  held  his  arm 
before  him,  but  soon  it  was  driven  to  his  side.  Wet 
whips  cut  his  brow  so  that  he  had  to  protect  it  with  his 
hands,  until  it  had  to  bear  the  lash  again,  for  they 
would  not.  Now  he  had  forced  up  his  knees,  and  would 
have  succumbed  but  for  a  dread  of  being  pinned  to  the 
earth.  This  fight  between  the  man  and  the  rain  went 
on  all  night,  and  long  before  it  ended  the  man  was 
past  the  power  of  thinking. 

In  the  ringing  of  the  ten  o'clock  bell  Gavin  had  lived 
the  seventh  part  of  a  man's  natural  life.  Only  action 
was  required  of  him.  That  accomplished,  his  mind 
had  begun  to  work  again,  when  suddenly  the  loss  of 
Babbie  stopped  it,  as  we  may  put  out  a  fire  with  a  great 
coal.  The  last  thing  he  had  reflected  about  was  a  dog- 
cart in  motion,  and,  consequently,  this  idea  clung  to 
him.  His  church,  his  mother,  were  lost  knowledge  of, 
but  still  he  seemed  to  hear  the  trap  in  front. 

The  rain  increased  in  violence,  appalling  even  those 
who  heard  it  from  under  cover.  However  rain  may 
storm,  though  it  be  an  army  of  archers  battering  roofs 
and  windows,  it  is  only  terrifying  when  the  noise  swells 
every  instant.  In  those  hours  of  darkness  it  again  and 


282  Cbe  Zittlc  /Minister. 

again  grew  in  force  and  doubled  its  fury,  and  was  louder, 
louder,  and  louder,  until  its  next  attack  was  to  be  more 
than  men  and  women  could  listen  to.  They  held  each 
other's  hands  and  stood  waiting.  Then  abruptly  it 
abated,  and  people  could  speak.  I  believe  a  rain  that 
became  heavier  every  second  for  ten  minutes  would  drive 
many  listeners  mad.  Gavin  was  in  it  on  a  night  that 
tried  us  repeatedly  for  quite  half  that  time. 

By  and  by  even  the  vision  of  Babbie  in  the  dogcart 
was  blotted  out.  If  nothing  had  taken  its  place,  he 
would  not  have  gone  on  probably;  and  had  he  turned 
back  objectless,  his  strength  would  have  succumbed  to 
the  rain.  Now  he  saw  Babbie  and  Rintoul  being  mar- 
ried by  a  minister  who  was  himself,  and  there  was  a 
fair  company  looking  on,  and  always  when  he  was  on 
the  point  of  shouting  to  himself,  whom  he  could  see 
clearly,  that  this  woman  was  already  married,  the  rain 
obscured  his  words  and  the  light  went  out.  Presently 
the  ceremony  began  again,  always  to  stop  at  the  same 
point.  He  saw  it  in  the  lightning-flash  that  had  startled 
the  hill.  It  gave  him  courage  to  fight  his  way  onward, 
because  he  thought  he  must  be  heard  if  he  could  draw 
nearer  to  the  company. 

A  regiment  of  cavalry  began  to  troul  le  hifn.  He 
heard  it  advancing  from  the  Spittal,  but  was  not  dis- 
mayed, for  it  was,  as  yet,  far  distant.  The  horsemen 
came  thundering  en,  filling  the  whole  glen  of  Quharity. 
Now  he  knew  that  they  had  been  sent  out  to  ride  him 
down.  He  paused  in  dread,  until  they  had  swept  past 
him.  They  came  back  to  look  for  him,  riding  more 
furiously  than  ever,  and  always  missed  him,  yet  his 
fears  of  the  next  time  were  not  lessened.  They  were 
only  the  rain. 

All  through  the  night  the  dog  followed  him.  He 
would  forget  it  for  a  time,  and  then  it  would  be  so  close 
that  he  could  see  it  dimly.  He  never  heard  it  bark, 
but  it  snapped  at  him,  and  a  grin  had  become  the  ex- 


Cbe  (Sreat  "Rain.  283 

pression  of  its  face.  He  stoned  it,  he  even  flung  himself 
at  it,  he  addressed  it  in  caressing  tones,  and  always  with 
the  result  that  it  disappeared,  to  come  back  presently. 

He  found  himself  walking  in  a  lake,  and  now  even 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation  must  have  been  flicker- 
ing, for  he  waded  on,  rejoicing  merely  in  getting  rid  of 
the  dog.  Something  in  the  water  rose  and  struck  him. 
Instead  of  stupefying  him,  the  blow  brought  him  to  his 
senses,  and  he  struggled  for  his  life.  The  ground 
slipped  beneath  his  feet  many  times,  but  at  last  he  was 
out  of  the  water.  That  he  was  out  in  a  flood  he  did  not 
realize;  yet  he  now  acted  like  one  in  full  possession  of 
his  faculties.  When  his  feet  sank  in  water,  he  drew 
back ;  and  many  times  he  sought  shelter  behind  banks 
and  rocks,  first  testing  their  firmness  with  his  hands. 
Once  a  torrent  of  stones,  earth,  and  heather  carried  him 
down  a  hillside  until  he  struck  against  a  tree.  He 
twined  his  arms  round  it,  and  had  just  done  so  when  it 
fell  with  him.  After  that,  when  he  touched  trees 
growing  in  water,  he  fled  from  them,  thus  probably 
saving  himself  from  death. 

What  he  heard  now  might  have  been  the  roll  and 
crack  of  the  thunder.  It  sounded  in  his  ear  like  noth- 
ing else.  But  it  was  really  something  that  swept  down 
the  hill  in  roaring  spouts  of  water,  and  it  passed  on 
both  sides  of  him  so  that  at  one  moment,  had  he 
paused,  it  would  have  crashed  into  him,  and  at  another 
he  was  only  saved  by  stopping.  He  felt  that  the  strug- 
gle in  the  dark  was  to  go  on  till  the  crack  of  doom. 

Then  he  cast  himself  upon  the  ground.  It  moved 
beneath  him  like  some  great  animal,  and  he  rose  and 
stole  away  from  it.  Several  times  did  this  happen. 
The  stones  against  which  his  feet  struck  seemed  to  ac- 
quire life  from  his  touch.  So  strong  had  he  become,  or 
so  weak  all  other  things,  that  whatever  clump  he  laid 
hands  on  by  which  to  pull  himself  out  of  the  water  was 
at  once  rooted  up. 


284  Cbe  Xittle  Minister. 

The  daylight  would  not  come.  He  longed  passion- 
ately for  it.  He  tried  to  remember  what  it  was  like, 
and  could  not;  he  had  been  blind  so  long.  It  was  away 
in  front  somewhere,  and  he  was  struggling  to  overtake 
it.  He  expected  to  see  it  from  a  dark  place,  when  he 
would  rush  forward  to  bathe  his  arms  in  it,  and  then  the 
elements  that  were  searching  the  world  for  him  would 
see  him  and  he  would  perish.  But  death  did  not  seem 
too  great  a  penalty  to  pay  for  light. 

And  at  last  day  did  come  back,  gray  and  drear.  He 
saw  suddenly  once  more.  I  think  he  must  have  been 
wandering  the  glen  with  his  eyes  shut,  as  one  does  shut 
them  involuntarily  against  the  hidden  dangers  of  black 
night.  How  different  was  daylight  from  what  he  had 
expected!  He  looked,  and  then  shut  his  dazed  eyes 
again,  for  the  darkness  was  less  horrible  than  the  day. 
Had  he  indeed  seen,  or  only  dreamed  that  he  saw? 
Once  more  he  looked  to  see  what  the  world  was  like; 
and  the  sight  that  met  his  eyes  was  so  mournful  that 
he  who  had  fought  through  the  long  night  now  sank 
hopeless  and  helpless  among  the  heather.  The  dog 
was  not  far  away,  and  it,  too,  lost  heart.  Gavin  held 
out  his  hand,  and  Snap  crept  timidly  toward  him.  He 
unloosened  his  coat,  and  the  dog  nestled  against  him, 
cowed  and  shivering,  hiding  its  head  from  the  day. 
Thus  they  lay,  and  the  rain  beat  upon  them. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

THE  GLEN  AT  BREAK  OF  DAY. 

MY  first  intimation  that  the  burns  were  in  flood  came 
from  Waster  Lunny,  close  on  the  strike  of  ten  o'clock. 
This  was  some  minutes  before  they  had  any  rain  in 
Thrums.  I  was  in  the  school-house,  now  piecing  to- 
gether the  puzzle  Lord  Rintoul  had  left  with  me,  and 
anon  starting  upright  as  McKenzie's  hand  seemed  to 
tighten  on  my  arm.  Waster  Lunny  had  been  whistling 
to  me  (with  his  fingers  in  his  mouth)  for  some  time  be- 
fore I  heard  him  and  hurried  out.  I  was  surprised  and 
pleased,  knowing  no  better,  to  be  met  on  the  threshold 
by  a  whisk  of  rain. 

The  night  was  not  then  so  dark  but  that  when  I 
reached  the  Quharity  I  could  see  the  farmer  take  shape 
on  the  other  side  of  it.  He  wanted  me  to  exult  with 
him,  I  thought,  in  the  end  of  the  drought,  and  I  shouted 
that  I  would  fling  him  the  stilts. 

"It's  yoursel'  that  wants  them,"  he  answered  excit- 
edly, "  if  you're  fleid  to  be  left  alone  in  the  school -house 
the  nicht.  Do  you  hear  me,  dominie?  There  has  been 
frichtsome  rain  among  the  hills,  and  the  Bog  burn  is 
coming  down  like  a  sea.  It  has  carried  awa  the  miller's 
brig,  and  the  steading  o'  Muckle  Pirley  is  standing 
three  feet  in  water." 

"You're  dreaming,  man,"  I  roared  back,  but  beside 
his  news  he  held  my  doubts  of  no  account. 

"The  Retery's  in  flood,"  he  went  on,  "and  running 
wild  through  Hazel  Wood;  T'nowdunnie's  tattie  field's 
out  o*  sicht,  and  at  the  Kirkton  they're  fleid  they've 
lost  twa  kye." 


286  ftbe  Xtttlc  dfctnister. 

"There  has  been  no  rain  here,"  I  stammered,  incred- 
ulously. 

"It's  coming  now,"  he  replied.  "And  listen:  the 
story's  out  that  the  Backbone  has  fallen  into  the  loch. 
You  had  better  cross,  dominie,  and  thole  out  the  nicht 
wi"  us." 

The  Backbone  was  a  piece  of  mountain-side  over- 
hanging a  loch  among  the  hills,  and  legend  said  that  it 
would  one  day  fall  forward  and  squirt  all  the  water  into 
the  glen.  Something  of  the  kind  had  happened,  but  I 
did  not  believe  it  theri ;  with  little  wit  I  pointed  to  the 
shallow  Quharity. 

"It  may  come  down  at  any  minute,"  the  farmer  an- 
swered. "  and  syne,  mind  you,  you'll  be  five  miles  frae 
Waster  Lunny,  for  there'll  be  no  crossing  but  by  the 
Brig  o'  March.  If  you  winna  come,  I  maun  awa  back. 
I  mauna  bide  langer  on  the  wrang  side  o'  the  Moss 
ditch,  though  it  has  been  as  dry  this  month  back  as  a 
rabbit's  roady.  But  if  you — "  His  voice  changed. 
"God's  sake,  man,"  he  cried,  "you're  ower  late.  Look 
at  that !  Dinna  look — run,  run !  " 

If  I  had  not  run  before  he  bade  me,  I  might  never 
have  run  again  on  earth.  I  had  seen  a  great  shadowy 
yellow  river  come  riding  down  the  Quharity.  I  sprang 
from  it  for  my  life ;  and  when  next  I  looked  behind,  it 
was  upon  a  turbulent  loch,  the  further  bank  lost  in 
darkness.  I  was  about  to  shout  to  Waster  Lunny,  when 
a  monster  rose  in  the  torrent  between  me  and  the  spot 
where  he  had  stood.  It  frightened  me  to  silence  until 
it  fell,  when  I  knew  it  was  but  a  tree  that  had  been 
flung  on  end  by  the  flood.  For  a  time  there  was  no 
answer  to  my  cries,  and  I  thought  the  farmer  had  been 
swept  away.  Then  I  heard  his  whistle,  and  back  I  ran 
recklessly  through  the  thickening  darkness  to  the 
school -house.  When  I  saw  the  tree  rise,  I  had  been  on 
ground  hardly  wet  as  yet  with  the  rain  ;  but  by  the  time 
Waster  Lunny  sent  that  reassuring  whistle  to  me  I  was 


<5len  at  JSreafc  of  Dag.  287 

ankle-deep  in  water,  and  the  rain  was  coming  down  like 
hail.  I  saw  no  lightning. 

For  the  rest  of  the  night  I  was  only  out  once,  when  I 
succeeded  in  reaching  the  hen-house  and  brought  all 
my  fowls  safely  to  the  kitchen,  except  a  hen  which 
would  not  rise  off  her  young.  Between  us  we  had  the 
kitchen  floor,  a  pool  of  water;  and  the  rain  had  put  out 
my  fires  already,  as  effectually  as  if  it  had  been  an 
overturned  broth-pot.  That  I  never  took  off  my  clothes 
that  night  I  need  not  say,  though  of  what  was  happen- 
ing in  the  glen  I  could  only  guess.  A  flutter  against 
my  window  now  and  again,  when  the  rain  had  abated, 
told  me  of  another  bird  that  had  flown  there  to  die ;  and 
with  Waster  Lunny,  I  kept  up  communication  by  wav- 
ing a  light,  to  which  he  replied  in  a  similar  manner. 
Before  morning,  however,  he  ceased  to  answer  my  sig- 
nals, and  I  feared  some  catastrophe  had  occurred  at  the 
farm.  As  it  turned  out,  the  family  was  fighting  with 
the  flood  for  the  year's  shearing  of  wool,  half  of  which 
eventually  went  down  the  waters,  with  the  wool-shed 
on  top  of  it. 

The  school-house  stands  too  high  to  fear  any  flood, 
but  there  were  moments  when  I  thought  the  rain  would 
master  it.  Not  only  the  windows  and  the  roof  were 
rattling  then,  but  all  the  walls,  and  I  was  like  one  in  a 
great  drum.  When  the  rain  was  doing  its  utmost,  I 
heard  no  other  sound;  but  when  the  lull  came,  there 
was  the  wash  of  a  heavy  river,  or  a  crack  as  of  artillery 
that  told  of  landslips,  or  the  plaintive  cry  of  the  pee- 
sweep  as  it  rose  in  the  air,  trying  to  entice  the  waters 
away  from  its  nest. 

It  was  a  dreary  scene  that  met  my  gaze  at  break  of 
day.  Already  the  Quharity  had  risen  six  feet,  and  in 
many  parts  of  the  glen  it  was  two  hundred  yards  wide. 
Waster  Lunny 's  corn-field  looked  like  a  bog  grown  over 
with  rushes,  and  what  had  been  his  turnips  had  become 
a  lake  with  small  islands  in  it.  No  dike  stood  whole 


288  £be  Xittle  Ainfeter. 

except  one  that  the  farmer,  unaided,  had  built  in  a 
straight  line  from  the  road  to  the  top  of  Mount  Bare, 
and  my  own,  the  further  end  of  which  dipped  in  water. 
Of  the  plot  of  firs  planted  fifty  years  earlier  to  help  on 
Waster  Lunny's  crops,  only  a  triangle  had  withstood 
the  night. 

Even  with  the  aid  of  my  field-glass  I  could  not  esti- 
mate the  damage  on  more  distant  farms,  for  the  rain, 
though  now  thin  and  soft,  as  it  continued  for  six  days, 
was  still  heavy  and  of  a  brown  color.  After  break- 
fast— which  was  interrupted  by  my  bantam  cock's  twice 
spilling  my  milk — I  saw  Waster  Lunny  and  his  son, 
Matthew,  running  towards  the  shepherd's  house  with 
ropes  in  their  hands.  The  house,  I  thought,  must  be 
in  the  midst  beyond;  and  then  I  sickened,  knowing  all 
at  once  that  it  should  be  on  this  side  of  the  mist.  When 
I  had  nerve  to  look  again,  I  saw  that  though  the  roof 
had  fallen  in,  the  shepherd  was  astride  one  of  the  walls, 
from  which  he  was  dragged  presently  through  the  water 
by  the  help  of  the  ropes.  I  remember  noticing  that  he 
returned  to  his  house  with  the  rope  still  about  him,  and 
concluded  that  he  had  gone  back  to  save  some  of  his 
furniture.  I  was  wrong,  however.  There  was  too 
much  to  be  done  at  the  farm  to  allow  this,  but  Waster 
Lunny  had  consented  to  Duncan's  forcing  his  way  back 
to  the  shieling  to  stop  the  clock.  To  both  men  it 
seemed  horrible  to  let  a  clock  go  on  ticking  in  a  de- 
serted house. 

Having  seen  this  rescue  accomplished,  I  was  letting 
my  glass  roam  in  the  opposite  direction,  when  one  of 
its  shakes  brought  into  view  something  on  my  own  side 
of  the  river.  I  looked  at  it  long,  and  saw  it  move 
slightly.  Was  it  a  human  being?  No,  it  was  a  dog. 
No,  it  was  a  dog  and  something  else.  I  hurried  out  to 
see  more  clearly,  and  after  a  first  glance  the  glass  shook 
so  in  my  hands  that  I  had  to  rest  it  on  the  dike.  For 
a  full  minute,  I  daresay,  did  I  look  through  the  glass 


Glen  at  JBreaft  of  Dag.  280 

without  blinking,  and  then  I  needed  to  look  no  more. 
That  black  patch  was,  indeed,  Gavin. 

He  lay  quite  near  the  school-house,  but  I  had  to  make 
a  circuit  of  half  a  mile  to  reach  him.  It  was  pitiful  to 
see  the  dog  doing  its  best  to  come  to  me,  and  falling 
every  few  steps.  The  poor  brute  was  discolored 
almost  beyond  recognition;  and  when  at  last  it  reached 
me,  it  lay  down  at  my  feet  and  licked  them.  I  stepped 
over  it  and  ran  on  recklessly  to  Gavin.  At  first  I 
thought  he  was  dead.  If  tears  rolled  down  my  cheeks, 
they  were  not  for  him. 

I  was  no  strong  man  even  in  those  days,  but  I  carried 
him  to  the  school-house,  the  dog  crawling  after  us. 
Gavin  I  put  upon  my  bed,  and  I  lay  down  beside  him, 
holding  him  close  to  me,  that  some  of  the  heat  of  my 
body  might  be  taken  in  by  his.  When  he  was  able  to 
look  at  me,  however,  it  was  not  with  understanding, 
and  in  vain  did  my  anxiety  press  him  with  questions. 
Only  now  and  again  would  some  word  in  my  speech 
strike  upon  his  brain  and  produce  at  least  an  echo.  To 
"Did  you  meet  Lord  Rintoul's  dogcart?"  he  sat  up, 
saying  quickly: 

"Listen,  the  dogcart!" 

"  Egyptian"  was  not  that  forenoon  among  the  words 
he  knew,  and  I  did  not  think  of  mentioning  "hill."  At 
"  rain"  he  shivered ;  but  "  Spittal"  was  what  told  me 
most. 

"He  has  taken  her  back,"  he  replied  at  once,  from 
which  I  learned  that  Gavin  now  knew  as  much  of  Bab- 
bie as  I  did. 

I  made  him  as  comfortable  as  possible,  and  despair- 
ing of  learning  anything  from  him  in  his  present  state, 
I  let  him  sleep.  Then  I  went  out  into  the  rain,  very 
anxious,  and  dreading  what  he  might  have  to  tell  me 
when  he  woke.  I  waded  and  jumped  my  way  as  near 
to  the  farm  as  I  dared  go,  and  Waster  Lunny,  seeing 
me,  came  to  the  water's  edge.  At  this  part  the  breadth 
19 


290  Ebe  Slittlc  Minister. 

of  the  flood  was  not  forty  yards,  yet  for  a  time  our 
voices  could  no  more  cross  its  roar  than  one  may  send  a 
snowball  through  a  stone  wall.  I  know  not  whether 
the  river  then  quieted  for  a  space,  or  if  it  was  only  that 
the  ears  grow  used  to  dins  as  the  eyes  distinguish  the 
objects  in  a  room  that  is  at  first  black  to  them ;  but  after 
a  little  we  were  able  to  shout  our  remarks  across,  much 
as  boys  fling  pebbles,  many  to  fall  into  the  water,  but 
one  occasionally  to  reach  the  other  side.  Waster  Lunny 
would  have  talked  of  the  flood,  but  I  had  not  come  here 
for  that. 

"  How  were  you  home  so  early  from  the  prayer-meet- 
ing last  night?"  I  bawled. 

"No  meeting  ...  I  came  straucht  name  .  .  .  but 
terrible  stories  .  .  .  Mr.  Dishart,''  was  all  I  caught 
after  Waster  Lunny  had  flung  his  words  across  a  dozen 
times. 

I  could  not  decide  whether  it  would  be  wise  to  tell 
him  that  Gavin  was  in  the  school-house,  and  while  I 
hesitated  he  continued  to  shout: 

"  Some  woman  .  .  .  the  Session  .  .  .  Lang  Tammas 
.  .  .  God  forbid  .  .  .  maun  back  to  the  farm  .  .  . 
byre  running  like  a  mill-dam. " 

He  signed  to  me  that  he  must  be  off,  but  my  signals 
delayed  him,  and  after  much  trouble  he  got  my  ques- 
tion, "Any  news  about  Lord  Rintoul?"  My  curiosity 
about  the  earl  must  have  surprised  him,  but  he 
answered : 

"  Marriage  is  to  be  the  day  .  .  .  cannon." 

I  signed  that  I  did  not  grasp  his  meaning. 

"A  cannon  is  to  be  fired  as  soon  as  they're  man  and 
wife,"  he  bellowed.  "We'll  hear  it." 

With  that  we  parted.  On  my  way  home,  I  remem- 
ber, I  stepped  on  a  brood  of  drowned  partridge.  I  was 
only  out  half  an  hour,  but  I  had  to  wring  my  clothes  as 
if  they  were  fresh  from  the  tub. 

The  day  wore  on,  and  I  did  not  disturb  the  sleeper. 


<5len  at  Break  of  H)ag.  391 

A  dozen  times,  I  suppose,  I  had  to  relight  my  fire  of 
wet  peats  and  roots;  but  I  had  plenty  of  time  to  stare 
out  at  the  window,  plenty  of  time  to  think.  Probably 
Gavin's  life  depended  on  his  sleeping,  but  that  was  not 
what  kept  my  hands  off  him.  Knowing  so  little  of 
what  had  happened  in  Thrums  since  I  left  it,  I  was 
forced  to  guess,  and  my  conclusion  was  that  the  earl  had 
gone  off  with  his  own,  and  that  Gavin  in  a  frenzy  had 
followed  them.  My  wisest  course,  I  thought,  was  to 
let  him  sleep  until  I  heard  the  cannon,  when  his  strug- 
gle for  a  wife  must  end.  Fifty  times  at  least  did  I 
stand  regarding  him  as  he  slept ;  and  if  I  did  not  pity 
his  plight  sufficiently,  you  know  the  reason.  What 
were  Margaret's  sufferings  at  this  moment?  Was  she 
wringing  her  hands  for  her  son  lost  in  the  flood,  her 
son  in  disgrace  with  the  congregation?  By  one  o'clock 
no  cannon  had  sounded,  and  my  suspense  had  become 
intolerable.  I  shook  Gavin  awake,  and  even  as  I  shook 
him  demanded  a  knowledge  of  all  that  had  happened 
since  we  parted  at  Nanny's  gate. 

"  How  long  ago  is  that?"  he  asked,  with  bewilder- 
ment. 

"It  was  last  night,"  I  answered.  "This  morning  I 
found  you  senseless  on  the  hillside,  and  brought  you 
here,  to  the  Glen  Quharity  school -house.  That  dog 
was  with  you." 

He  looked  at  the  dog,  but  I  kept  my  eyes  on  him, 
and  I  saw  intelligence  creep  back,  like  a  blush,  into  his 
face. 

"Now  I  remember,"  he  said,  shuddering.  "You 
have  proved  yourself  my  friend,  sir,  twice  in  the  four 
and  twenty  hours." 

"Only  once,  I  fear,"  I  replied  gloomily.  "I  was  no 
friend  when  I  sent  you  to  the  earl's  bride  last  night." 

"You  know  who  she  is?"  he  cried,  clutching  me,  and 
finding  it  agony  to  move  his  limbs. 

"  I  know  now, "  I  said,  and  had  to  tell  him  how  I  knew 


292  Obe  Xittle  Minister. 

before  he  would  answer  another  question.  Then  I  be- 
came listener,  and  you  who  read  know  to  what  alarming 
story. 

"  And  all  that  time, "  I  cried  reproachfully,  when  he 
had  done,  "you  gave  your  mother  not  a  thought." 

"Not  a  thought,"  he  answered;  and  I  saw  that  he 
pronounced  a  harsher  sentence  on  himself  than  could 
have  come  from  me.  "All  that  time!"  he  repeated, 
after  a  moment.  "  It  was  only  a  few  minutes,  while 
the  ten  o'clock  bell  was  ringing." 

"Only  a  few  minutes,"  I  said,  "but  they  changed  the 
channel  of  the  Quharity,  and  perhaps  they  have  done 
not  less  to  you." 

"That  may  be,"  he  answered  gravely,  "but  it  is  of 
the  present  I  must  think  just  now.  Mr.  Ogilvy,  what 
assurance  have  I,  while  lying  here  helpless,  that  the 
marriage  at  the  Spittal  is  not  going  on?" 

"None,  I  hope,"  I  said  to  myself,  and  listened  long- 
ingly for  the  cannon.  But  to  him  I  only  pointed  out 
that  no  woman  need  go  through  a  form  of  marriage 
against  her  will. 

"  Rintoul  carried  her  off  with  no  possible  purport,"  he 
said,  "  but  to  set  my  marriage  at  defiance,  and  she  has 
had  a  conviction  always  that  to  marry  me  would  be  to 
ruin  me.  It  was  only  in  the  shiver  Lord  Rintoul's 
voice  in  the  darkness  sent  through  her  that  she  yielded 
to  my  wishes.  If  she  thought  that  marriage  last  night 
could  be  annulled  by  another  to-day,  she  would  consent 
to  the  second,  I  believe,  to  save  me  from  the  effects  of 
the  first.  You  are  incredulous,  sir;  but  you  do  not 
know  of  what  sacrifices  love  is  capable." 

Something  of  that  I  knew,  but  I  did  not  tell  him.  I 
had  seen  from  his  manner  rather  than  his  words  that 
he  doubted  the  validity  of  the  gypsy  marriage,  which 
the  king  had  only  consented  to  celebrate  because  Bab- 
bie was  herself  an  Egyptian.  The  ceremony  had  been 
interrupted  in  the  middle. 


Cbe  <5ten  at  3Srcaft  of  Dag.  293 

"  It  was  no  marriage,"  I  said,  with  a  confidence  I  was 
far  from  feeling. 

"  In  the  sight  of  God,"  he  replied  excitedly,  "  we  took 
each  other  for  man  and  wife. " 

I  had  to  hold  him  down  in  bed. 

"  You  are  too  weak  to  stand,  man, "  I  said,  "  and  yet 
you  think  you  could  start  off  this  minute  for  the 
Spittal." 

"  I  must  go,"  he  cried.  "  She  is  my  wife.  That  im- 
pious marriage  may  have  taken  place  already." 

"Oh,  that  it  had!"  was  my  prayer.  "It  has  not,"  I 
said  to  him.  "A  cannon  is  to  be  fired  immediately 
after  the  ceremony,  and  all  the  glen  will  hear  it." 

I  spoke  on  the  impulse,  thinking  to  allay  his  desire 
to  be  off;  but  he  said,  "Then  I  may  yet  be  in  time." 
Somewhat  cruelly  I  let  him  rise,  that  he  might  realize 
his  weakness.  Every  bone  in  him  cried  out  at  his  first 
step,  and  he  sank  into  a  chair. 

"You  will  go  to  the  Spittal  for  me?"  he  implored. 

"I  will  not,"  I  told  him.  "You  are  asking  me  to 
fling  away  my  life." 

To  prove  my  words  I  opened  the  door,  and  he  saw 
what  the  flood  was  doing.  Nevertheless,  he  rose  and 
tottered  several  times  across  the  room,  trying  to  revive 
his  strength.  Though  every  bit  of  him  was  aching,  I 
saw  that  he  would  make  the  attempt. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  I  said.  "  Lord  Rintoul  can  maintain 
with  some  reason  that  it  was  you  rather  than  he  who 
abducted  Babbie.  Nevertheless,  there  will  not,  I  am 
convinced,  be  any  marriage  at  the  Spittal  to-day. 
When  he  carried  her  off  from  the  Toad's-hole,  he  acted 
under  impulses  not  dissimilar  to  those  that  took  you  to 
it.  Then,  I  doubt  not,  he  thought  possession  was  all 
the  law,  but  that  scene  on  the  hill  has  staggered  him 
by  this  morning.  Even  though  she  thinks  to  save  you 
by  marrying  him,  he  will  defer  his  wedding  until  he 
learns  the  import  of  yours. " 


a»4  tTbe  ifttle  Minister. 

I  did  not  believe  in  my  own  reasoning,  but  I  would 
have  said  anything  to  detain  him  until  that  cannon  was 
fired.  He  seemed  to  read  my  purpose,  for  he  pushed 
my  arguments  from  him  with  his  hands,  and  continued 
to  walk  painfully  to  and  fro. 

"To  defer  the  wedding,"  he  said,  "would  be  to  tell 
all  his  friends  of  her  gyp^y  origin,  and  of  me.  He  will 
risk  much  to  avoid  that." 

"  In  any  case,"  I  answered,  "  you  must  now  give  some 
thought  to  those  you  have  forgotten,  your  mother  and 
your  church. " 

"That  must  come  afterwards,"  he  said  firmly.  "  My 
first  duty  is  to  my  wife. " 

The  door  swung  to  sharply  just  then,  and  he  started. 
He  thought  it  was  the  cannon. 

"  I  wish  to  God  it  had  been!"  I  cried,  interpreting 
his  thoughts. 

"Why  do  you  wish  me  ill?"  he  asked. 

"Mr.  Dishart,"  I  said  solemnly,  rising  and  facing 
him,  and  disregarding  his  question,  "  if  that  woman  is 
to  be  your  wife,  it  will  be  at  a  cost  you  cannot  estimate 
till  you  return  to  Thrums.  Do  you  think  that  if  your 
congregation  knew  of  this  gypsy  marriage  they  would 
have  you  for  their  minister  for  another  day?  Do  you 
enjoy  the  prospect  of  taking  one  who  might  be  an  earl's 
wife  into  poverty — ay,  and  disgraceful  poverty?  Do 
you  know  your  mother  so  little  as  to  think  she  could 
survive  your  shame?  Let  me  warn  you,  sir,  of  what  I 
see.  I  see  another  minister  in  the  Auld  Licht  kirk, 
I  see  you  and  your  wife  stoned  through  our  wynds, 
stoned  from  Thrums,  as  malefactors  have  been  chased 
out  of  it  ere  now ;  and  as  certainly  as  I  see  these  things 
I  see  a  hearse  standing  at  the  manse  door,  and  stern 
men  denying  a  son's  right  to  help  to  carry  his  mother's 
coffin  to  it.  Go  your  way,  sir ;  but  first  count  the  cost. " 

His  face  quivered  before  these  blows,  but  all  he  said 
was,  "  I  must  dree  my  dreed." 


<5len  at  JGreaft  of  Dag.  290 

"  God  is  merciful,"  I  went  on,  "  and  these  things  need 
not  be.  He  is  more  merciful  to  you,  sir,  than  to  some, 
for  the  storm  that  He  sent  to  save  you  is  ruining  them. 
And  yet  the  farmers  are  to-day  thanking  Him  for  every 
pound  of  wool,  ever}'  blade  of  corn  He  has  left  them, 
while  you  turn  from  Him  because  He  would  save  you, 
not  in  your  way,  but  in  His.  It  was  His  hand  that 
stayed  your  marriage.  He  meant  Babbie  for  the  earl; 
and  if  it  is  on  her  part  a  loveless  match,  she  only  suffers 
for  her  own  sins.  Of  that  scene  on  the  hill  no  one  in 
Thrums,  or  in  the  glen,  need  ever  know.  Rintoul  will 
see  to  it  that  the  gypsies  vanish  from  these  parts  for- 
ever, and  you  may  be  sure  the  Spittal  will  soon  be  shut 
up.  He  and  McKenzie  have  as  much  reason  as  your- 
self to  be  silent.  You,  sir,  must  go  back  to  your  con- 
gregation, who  have  heard  as  yet  only  vague  rumors 
that  your  presence  will  dispel.  Even  your  mother  will 
remain  ignorant  of  what  has  happened.  Your  absence 
from  the  prayer-meeting  you  can  leave  to  me  to  explain. " 

He  was  so  silent  that  I  thought  him  mine,  but  his 
first  words  undeceived  me. 

"  I  thought  I  had  nowhere  so  keen  a  friend,"  he  said; 
"but,  Mr.  Ogilvy,  it  is  devil's  work  you  are  pleading. 
Am  I  to  return  to  my  people  to  act  a  living  lie  before 
them  to  the  end  of  my  days?  Do  you  really  think  that 
God  devastated  a  glen  to  give  me  a  chance  of  becoming 
a  villain?  No,  sir,  I  am  in  His  ha'nds,  and  I  will  do 
what  I  think  right." 

"You  will  be  dishonored,"  I  said,  "in  the  sight  of 
God  and  man." 

"  Not  in  God's  sight,"  he  replied.  "  It  was  a  sinless 
marriage,  Mr.  Ogilvy,  and  I  do  not  regret  it.  God 
ordained  that  she  and  I  should  love  each  other,  and  He 
put  it  into  my  power  to  save  her  from  that  man.  I 
took  her  as  my  wife  before  Him,  and  in  His  eyes  I  am 
her  husband.  Knowing  that,  sir,  how  could  I  return 
to  Thrums  without  her?" 


296  Ebe  Xitttc  Minister. 

I  had  no  answer  ready  for  him.  I  knew  that  in  my 
grief  for  Margaret  I  had  been  advocating  an  unworthy 
course,  but  I  would  not  say  so.  I  went  gloomily  to  the 
door,  and  there,  presently,  his  hand  fell  on  my  shoulder. 

"Your  advice  came  too  late,  at  any  rate,"  he  said. 
"  You  forget  that  the  precentor  was  on  the  hill  and  saw 
everything." 

It  was  he  who  had  forgotten  to  tell  me  this,  and  to 
me  it  was  the  most  direful  news  of  all. 

"My  God!"  I  cried.  "He  will  have  gone  to  your 
mother  and  told  her."  And  straightway  I  began  to 
lace  my  boots. 

"  Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked,  staring  at  me. 

"  To  Thrums, "  I  answered  harshly. 

"  You  said  that  to  venture  out  into  the  glen  was  to 
court  death,"  he  reminded  me. 

"What  of  that?"  I  said,  and  hastily  put  on  my  coat. 

"  Mr.  Ogilvy, "  he  cried,  "  I  will  not  allow  you  to  do 
this  for  me." 

"  For  you?"  I  said  bitterly.     "  It  is  not  for  you." 

I  would  have  gone  at  once,  but  he  got  in  front  of  me, 
asking,  "  Did  you  ever  know  my  mother?" 

"Long  ago,"  I  answered  shortly,  and  he  said  no 
more,  thinking,  I  suppose,  that  he  knew  all.  He 
limped  to  the  door  with  me,  and  I  had  only  advanced  a 
few  steps  when  I  understood  better  than  before  what 
were  the  dangers  I  was  to  venture  into.  Since  I  spoke 
to  Waster  Lunny  the  river  had  risen  several  feet,  and 
even  the  hillocks  in  his  turnip-field  were  now  sub- 
merged. The  mist  was  creeping  down  the  hills.  But 
what  warned  me  most  sharply  that  the  flood  was  not 
satisfied  yet  was  the  top  of  the  school-house  dike;  it 
was  lined  with  field-mice.  I  turned  back,  and  Gavin, 
mistaking  my  meaning,  said  I  did  wisely. 

"  I  have  not  changed  my  mind,"  I  told  him,  and  then 
had  some  difficulty  in  continuing.  "I  expect,"  I  said, 
"to  reach  Thrums  safely,  even  though  I  should  be 


(Blen  at  SJrcaft  of  Dap.  297 

caught  in  the  mist,  but  I  shall  have  to  go  round  by  the 
Kelpie  brig  in  order  to  get  across  the  river,  and  it  is 
possible  that — that  something  may  befall  me." 

I  have  all  my  life  been  something  of  a  coward,  and 
my  voice  shook  when  I  said  this,  so  that  Gavin  again 
entreated  me  to  remain  at  the  school-house,  saying  that 
if  I  did  not  he  would  accompany  me. 

"  And  so  increase  my  danger  tenfold?"  I  pointed  out. 
"  No,  no,  Mr.  Dishart,  I  go  alone;  and  if  I  can  do  noth- 
ing with  the  congregation,  I  can  at  least  send  your 
mother  word  that  you  still  live.  But  if  anything  should 
happen  to  me,  I  want  you " 

But  I  could  not  say  what  I  had  come  back  to  say.  I 
had  meant  to  ask  him,  in  the  event  of  my  death,  to 
take  a  hundred  pounds  which  were  the  savings  of  my 
life;  but  now  I  saw  that  this  might  lead  to  Margaret's 
hearing  of  me,  and  so  I  stayed  my  words.  It  was  bitter 
to  me  this,  and  yet,  after  all,  a  little  thing  when  put 
beside  the  rest. 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Dishart,"  I  said  abruptly.  I  then 
looked  at  my  desk,  which  contained  some  trifles  that 
were  once  Margaret's.  "  Should  anything  happen  to 
me,"  I  said,  "I  want  that  old  desk  to  be  destroyed  un- 
opened." 

"Mr.  Ogilvy,"  he  answered  gently,  "you  are  ventur- 
ing this  because  you  loved  my  mother.  If  anything 
does  befall  you,  be  asssured  that  I  will  tell  her  what 
you  attempted  for  her  sake." 

I  believe  he  thought  it  was  to  make  some  such  request 
that  I  had  turned  back. 

"You  must  tell  her  nothing  about  me,"  I  exclaimed, 
in  consternation.  "  Swear  that  my  name  will  never 
cross  your  lips  before  her.  No,  that  is  not  enough. 
You  must  forget  me  utterly,  whether  I  live  or  die,  lest 
some  time  you  should  think  of  me  and  she  should  read 
your  thoughts.  Swear,  man!" 

"  Must  this  be?"  he  said,  gazing  at  me. 


398  Sbe  little  d&fnfeter. 

"  Yes, "  I  answered  more  calmly,  "  it  must  be.  For 
nearly  a  score  of  years  I  have  been  blotted  out  of  your 
mother's  life,  and  since  she  came  to  Thrums  my  one  care 
has  been  to  keep  my  existence  from  her.  I  have 
changed  my  burying-ground  even  from  Thrums  to  the 
glen,  lest  I  should  die  before  her,  and  she,  seeing  the 
hearse  go  by  the  Tenements,  might  ask,  'Whose  funeral 
is  this?' " 

In  my  anxiety  to  warn  him,  I  had  said  too  much. 
His  face  grew  haggard,  and  there  was  fear  to  speak  on 
it;  and  I  saw,  I  knew,  that  some  damnable  suspicion  of 
Margaret 

"She  was  my  wife!"  I  cried  sharply.  "We  were 
married  by  the  minister  of  Harvie.  You  are  my  son." 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

STORY  OF  THE  DOMINIE. 

WHEW  I  spoke  next,  I  was  back  in  the  school-house, 
sitting  there  with  my  bonnet  on  my  head,  Gavin  look- 
ing at  me.  We  had  forgotten  the  cannon  at  last. 

In  that  chair  I  had  anticipated  this  scene  more  than 
once  of  late.  I  had  seen  that  a  time  might  come  when 
Gavin  would  have  to  be  told  all,  and  I  had  even  said 
the  words  aloud,  as  if  he  were  indeed  opposite  me.  So 
now  I  was  only  repeating  the  tale,  and  I  could  tell  it 
without  emotion,  because  it  was  nigh  nineteen  years 
old;  and  I  did  not  look  at  Gavin,  for  I  knew  that  his 
manner  of  taking  it  could  bring  no  change  to  me. 

"Did  you  never  ask  your  mother,"  I  said,  addressing 
the  fire  rather  than  him,  "  why  you  were  called  Gavin?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "it  was  because  she  thought 
Gavin  a  prettier  name  than  Adam." 

"No,"  I  said  slowly,  "it  was  because  Gavin  is  my 
name.  You  were  called  after  your  father.  Do  you  not 
remember  my  taking  you  one  day  to  the  shore  at  Har- 
vie  to  see  the  fishermen  carried  to  their  boats  upon  their 
wives'  backs,  that  they  might  start  dry  on  their 
journey?" 

"No, "he  had  to  reply.  "I  remember  the  women 
carrying  the  men  through  the  water  to  the  boats,  but  I 
thought  it  was  my  father  who — I  mean " 

"I  know  whom  you  mean,"  I  said.  "That  was  our 
last  day  together,  but  you  were  not  three  years  old. 
Yet  you  remembered  me  when  you  came  to  Thrums. 
You  shake  your  head,  but  it  is  true.  Between  the  diets 


300  tTbe  OLittte  flbmtster. 

of  worship  that  first  Sabbath  I  was  introduced  to  you, 
and  you  must  have  had  some  shadowy  recollection  of 
my  face,  for  you  asked,  'Surely  I  saw  you  in  church  in 
the  forenoon,  Mr.  Ogilvy?'  I  said  'Yes,'  but  I  had 
not  been  in  the  church  in  the  forenoon.  You  have  for- 
gotten even  that,  and  yet  I  treasured  it. " 

I  could  hear  that  he  was  growing  impatient,  though 
so  far  he  had  been  more  indulgent  than  I  had  any  right 
to  expect. 

"It  can  all  be  put  into  a  sentence,"  I  said  calmly. 
"  Margaret  married  Adam  Dishart,  and  afterwards,  be- 
lieving herself  a  widow,  she  married  me.  You  were 
born,  and  then  Adam  Dishart  came  back. " 

That  is  my  whole  story,  and  here  was  I  telling  it  to 
my  son,  and  not  a  tear  between  us.  It  ended  abruptly, 
and  I  fell  to  mending  the  fire. 

"When  I  knew  your  mother  first,"  I  went  on,  after 
Gavin  had  said  some  boyish  things  that  were  of  no  avail 
to  me,  "  I  did  not  think  to  end  my  days  as  a  dominie. 
I  was  a  student  at  Aberdeen,  with  the  ministry  in  my 
eye,  and  sometimes  on  Saturdays  I  walked  forty  miles 
to  Harvie  to  go  to  church  with  her.  She  had  another 
lover,  Adam  Dishart,  a  sailor  turned  fisherman;  and 
while  I  lingered  at  corners,  wondering  if  I  could  dare 
to  meet  her  and  her  mother  on  their  way  to  church,  he 
would  walk  past  with  them.  He  was  accompanied 
always  by  a  lanky  black  dog,  which  he  had  brought 
from  a  foreign  country.  He  never  signed  for  any  ship 
without  first  getting  permission  to  take  it  with  him,  and 
in  Harvie  they  said  it  did  not  know  the  language  of  the 
natire  dogs.  I  have  never  known  a  man  and  dog  so 
attached  to  each  other." 

"I  remember  that  black  dog,"  Gavin  said.  "I  have 
spoken  of  it  to  my  mother,  and  she  shuddered,  as  if  it 
had  once  bitten  her." 

"While  Adam  strutted  by  with  them,"  I  continued 
**  I  would  hang  back,  raging  at  his  assurance  or  my  own 


Stocg  of  tbc  Domtnie.  soi 

timidity ;  but  I  lost  my  next  chance  in  the  same  way. 
In  Margaret's  presence  something  came  over  me,  a  kind 
of  dryness  in  the  throat,  that  made  me  dumb.  I  have 
known  divinity  students  stricken  in  the  same  way,  just 
as  they  were  giving  out  their  first  text.  It  is  no  aid  in 
getting  a  kirk  or  wooing  a  woman. 

"  If  any  one  in  Harvie  recalls  me  now,  it  is  as  a 
hobbledehoy  who  strode  along  the  cliffs,  shouting 
Homer  at  the  sea-mews.  With  all  my  learning,  I,  who 
gave  Margaret  the  name  of  Lalage,  understood  women 
less  than  any  fisherman  who  bandied  words  with  them 
across  a  boat.  I  remember  a  Yule  night  when  both 
Adam  and  I  were  at  her  mother's  cottage,  and,  as  we 
were  leaving,  he  had  the  audacity  to  kiss  Margaret. 
She  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  Adam  swaggered  off,  and 
when  I  recovered  from  my  horror,  I  apologized  for 
what  he  had  done.  I  shall  never  forget  how  her  mother 
looked  at  me,  and  said,  'Ay,  Gavin,  I  see  they  dinna 
teach  everything  at  Aberdeen. '  You  will  not  believe 
it,  but  I  walked  away  doubting  her  meaning.  I  thought 
more  of  scholarship  then  than  I  do  now.  Adam  Dish- 
art  taught  me  its  proper  place. 

"  Well,  that  is  the  dull  man  I  v/as ;  and  yet,  though 
Adam  was  always  saying  and  doing  the  things  I  was 
making  up  my  mind  to  say  and  do,  I  think  Margaret 
cared  more  for  me.  Nevertheless,  there  was  something 
about  him  that  all  women  seemed  to  find  lovable,  a 
dash  that  made  them  send  him  away  and  then  well-nigh 
run  after  him.  At  any  rate,  I  could  have  got  her  after 
her  mother's  death  if  I  had  been  half  a  man.  But  I 
went  back  to  Aberdeen  to  write  a  poem  about  her,  and 
while  I  was  at  it  Adam  married  her. " 

I  opened  my  desk  and  took  from  it  a  yellow  manu- 
script. ^ 

"  Here,"  I  said,  "is  the  poem.  You  see,  I  never  fin- 
ished it." 

I  was  fingering  the  thing  grimly  when  Gavin's  eye 


302  Sbe  Xittle  Minister. 

fell  on  something  else  in  the  desk.  It  was  an  ungainly 
clasp-knife,  as  rusty  as  if  it  had  spent  a  winter  beneath 
a  hedge. 

"  I  seem  to  remember  that  knife,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  you  should  remember  it.  Weil, 
after  three  months  Adam  tired  of  his  wife. " 

I  stopped  again.  This  was  a  story  in  which  only  the 
pauses  were  eloquent. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  no  right  to  say  he  tired  of  her.  One 
day,  however,  he  sauntered  away  from  Harvie  whistling, 
his  dog  at  his  heels  as  ever,  and  was  not  seen  again  for 
nearly  six  years.  When  I  heard  of  his  disappearance 
I  packed  my  books  in  that  kist  and  went  to  Harvie, 
where  I  opened  a  school.  You  see,  every  one  but  Mar- 
garet believed  that  Adam  had  fallen  over  the  cliffs  and 
been  drowned." 

"  But  the  dog?"  said  Gavin. 

"  We  were  all  sure  that,  if  he  had  fallen  over,  it  had 
jumped  after  him.  The  fisher-folk  said  that  he  could 
have  left  his  shadow  behind  as  easily  as  it.  Yet  Mar- 
garet thought  for  long  that  he  had  tired  of  Harvie 
merely  and  gone  back  to  sea,  and  not  until  two  years 
had  passed  would  she  marry  me.  We  lived  in  Adam's 
house.  It  was  so  near  the  little  school  that  when  1 
opened  the  window  in  summer-time  she  could  hear  the 
drone  of  our  voices.  During  the  weeks  before  you  were 
born  I  kept  that  window  open  all  day  long,  and  often  I 
went  to  it  and  waved  my  hand  to  her. 

"  Sometimes,  when  she  was  washing  or  baking,  I 
brought  you  to  the  school.  The  only  quarrel  she  and  I 
ever  had  was  about  my  teaching  you  the  Lord's  Prayer 
in  Greek  as  soon  as  you  could  say  father  and  mother. 
It  was  to  be  a  surprise  for  her  on  your  second  birthday. 
On  that  day,  while  she  was  ironing,  you  took  hold  of 
her  gown  to  steady  yourself,  and  began,  '  flrirep  yfiwv  6 
iv  roi<?  oupayoi?, '  and  to  me,  behind  the  door,  it  was  music. 
But  at  drtaff0rjTu>t  of  which  you  made  two  syllables,  you 


Storg  of  tbc  Dominic.  303 

cried,  and  Margaret  snatched  you  up,  thinking  this  was 
some  new  ailment.  After  I  had  explained  to  her  that 
it  was  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  Greek,  she  would  let  me 
take  you  to  the  school-house  no  more, 

"  Not  much  longer  could  I  have  taken  you  in  any 
case,  for  already  we  are  at  the  day  when  Adam  Dishart 
came  back.  It  was  the  7th  of  September,  and  all  the 
week  most  of  the  women  in  Harvie  had  been  setting 
off  at  dawn  to  the  harvest  fields  and  straggling  home  at 
nights,  merry  and  with  yellow  corn  in  their  hair.  I 
had  sat  on  in  the  school-house  that  day  after  my  pupils 
were  gone.  I  still  meant  to  be  a  minister,  and  I  was 
studying  Hebrew,  and  so  absorbed  in  my  book  that  as 
the  daylight  went,  I  followed  it  step  by  step  as  far  as 
my  window,  and  there  I  read,  without  knowing,  until  I 
chanced  to  look  up,  that  I  had  left  my  desk.  I  have 
not  opened  that  book  since. 

"  From  the  window  I  saw  you  on  the  waste  ground 
that  separated  the  school  from  our  home.  You  were 
coming  to  me  on  your  hands  and  feet,  and  stopping  now 
and  again  to  look  back  at  your  mother,  who  was  at  the 
door,  laughing  and  shaking  her  fist  at  you.  I  beckoned 
to  you,  and  took  the  book  back  to  my  desk  to  lock  it  up. 
While  my  head  was  inside  the  desk  I  heard  the  school- 
house  door  pushed  open,  and  thinking  it  was  you  I 
smiled,  without  looking  up.  Then  something  touched 
my  hand,  and  I  still  thought  it  was  you ;  but  I  looked 
down,  and  I  saw  Adam  Dishart's  black  dog. 

"  I  did  not  move.  It  looked  up  at  me  and  wagged  its 
tail.  Then  it  drew  back — I  suppose  because  I  had  no 
words  for  it.  I  watched  it  run  half-round  the  room 
and  stop  and  look  at  me  again.  Then  it  slunk  out. 

"  All  that  time  one  of  my  hands  had  been  holding  the 
desk  open.  Now  the  lid  fell.  I  put  on  my  bonnet  and 
went  to  the  door.  You  were  only  a  few  yards  away, 
with  flowers  in  your  fist.  Margaret  was  laughing  still. 
I  walked  round  the  school  and  there  was  no  dog  visible 


304  ttbe  Xittle  Minister. 

Margaret  nodded  to  me,  meaning  that  I  should  bring 
you  home.  You  thrust  the  flowers  into  my  hand,  but 
they  fell.  I  stood  there,  dazed. 

"  I  think  I  walked  with  you  some  way  across  the 
waste  ground.  Then  I  dropped  your  hand  and  strode 
back  to  the  school.  I  went  down  on  my  knees,  looking 
for  marks  of  a  dog's  paws,  and  I  found  them. 

"  When  I  came  out  again  your  mother  was  no  longer 
at  our  door,  and  you  were  crying  because  I  had  left 
you.  I  passed  you  and  walked  straight  to  the  house. 
Margaret  was  skinning  rushes  for  wicks.  There  must 
have  been  fear  in  my  face,  for  as  soon  as  she  saw  it  she 
ran  to  the  door  to  see  if  you  were  still  alive.  She 
brought  you  in  with  her,  and  so  had  strength  to  cry, 
'What  is  it?  Speak!' 

"  'Come  away,'  I  said,  'come  away,'  and  I  was  draw- 
ing her  to  the  door,  but  she  pressed  me  into  a  chair. 
I  was  up  again  at  once. 

"'Margaret,'  I  said,  'ask  no  questions.  Put  on  your 
bonnet,  give  me  the  boy,  and  let  us  away. ' 

"  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  off  the  door,  and  she  was 
walking  to  it  to  look  out  when  I  barred  the  way  with 
my  arm. 

"'What  have  you  seen?'  she  cried;  and  then,  as  I 
only  pointed  to  her  bonnet,  she  turned  to  you,  and  you 
said,  'Was  it  the  black  dog,  father?' 

"Gavin,  then  she  knew;  and  I  stood  helpless  and 
watched  my  wife  grow  old.  In  that  moment  she  lost 
the  sprightliness  I  loved  the  more  because  I  had  none 
of  it  myself,  and  the  bloom  went  from  her  face  never  to 
return. 

"  'He  has  come  back,'  she  said. 

"  I  told  her  what  I  had  seen,  and  while  I  spoke  she 
put  on  her  bonnet,  and  I  exulted,  thinking — and  then 
she  took  off  her  bonnet,  and  I  knew  she  would  not  go 
away  with  me. 

"'Margaret,'  I  cried,  'I  am  that  bairn's  father.' 


Store  of  tbc  Domfnfe.  305 

'"Adam's  my  man,'  she  said,  and  at  that  I  gave  her 
a  look  for  which  God  might  have  struck  me  dead. 
But  instead  of  blaming  me  she  put  her  arms  round  my 
neck. 

"  After  that  we  said  very  little.  We  sat  at  opposite 
sides  of  the  fire,  waiting  for  him,  and  you  played  on 
the  floor.  The  harvesters  trooped  by,  and  there  was  a 
fiddle ;  and  when  it  stopped,  long  stillness,  and  then  a 
step.  It  was  not  Adam.  You  fell  asleep,  and  we 
could  hear  nothing  but  the  se~  There  was  a  harvest 
moon. 

"  Once  a  dog  ran  past  the  door,  and  we  both  rose. 
Margaret  pressed  her  hands  on  her  breast.  Sometimes 
she  looked  furtively  at  me,  and  I  knew  her  thoughts. 
To  me  it  was  only  misery  that  had  come,  but  to  her  it 
was  shame,  so  that  when  you  woke  and  climbed  into 
her  lap  she  shivered  at  your  touch.  I  could  not  look 
at  her  after  that,  for  there  was  a  horror  of  me  growing 
in  her  face. 

"  Ten  o'clock  struck,  and  then  again  there  was  no 
sound  but  the  sea  pouring  itself  out  on  the  beach.  It 
was  long  after  this,  when  to  me  there  was  still  no  other 
sound,  that  Margaret  screamed,  and  you  hid  behind 
her.  Then  I  heard  it. 

"  'Gavin, '  Margaret  said  to  me,  'be  a  good  man  all 
your  life. ' 

"  It  was  louder  now,  and  then  it  stopped.  Above  the 
wash  of  the  sea  we  heard  another  sound — a  sharp  tap, 
tap.  You  said,  'I  know  what  sound  that  is;  it's  a  man 
knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  against  his  boot. ' 

"  Then  the  dog  pushed  the  door  off  the  latch,  and 
Adam  lurched  in.  He  was  not  drunk,  but  he  brought 
the  smell  of  drink  into  the  room  with  him.  He  was 
grinning  like  one  bringing  rare  news,  and  before  she 
could  shrink  back  or  I  could  strike  him  he  had  Mar- 
garet in  his  arms. 

"'Lord,  lass,'  he  said,  with  many  jovial  oaths,  'to 
20 


306  Sbe  fcittt 

think  I'm  back  again!  There,  she's  swounded.  What 
folks  be  women,  to  be  sure. ' 

"'We  thought  you  were  dead,  Adam,"  she  said, 
coming  to. 

"'Bless  your  blue  eyes,'  he  answered  gleefully; 
'often  I  says  to  myself,  "  Meggy  will  be  thinking  I'm 
with  the  fishes,"  and  then  I  chuckles.' 

"  'Where  have  you  been  all  this  time?'  I  demanded 
sternly. 

"'Gavin,'  he  said  effusively,  'your  hand.  And  don't 
look  so  feared,  man;  I  bear  no  malice  for  what  you've 
done.  I  heard  all  about  it  at  the  Cross  Anchors. ' 

"  'Where  have  you  been  these  five  years  and  a  half?' 
I  repeated. 

"  'Where  have  I  no  been,  lad?'  he  replied. 

"'At  Harvie,'  I  said. 

"'Right  you  are,'  said  he  good-naturedly.  'Meg- 
gie,  I  had  no  intention  of  leaving  you  that  day,  though 
I  was  yawning  myself  to  death  in  Harvie ;  but  I  sees  a 
whaler,  and  I  thinks,  "That's  a  tidy  boat,  and  I'm  a 
tidy  man,  and  if  they'll  take  me  and  the  dog,  off  we 
go."' 

" 'You  never  wrote  to  me,'  Margaret  said. 

"'I  meant  to  send  you  some  scrapes,'  he  answered, 
4  but  it  wasna  till  I  changed  ships  that  I  had  the  chance, 
and  then  I  minds,  "  Meggy  kens  I'm  no  hand  with  the 
pen. "  But  I  swear  I  often  thought  of  you,  lass ;  and 
look  you  here,  that's  better  than  letters,  and  so  is  that, 
and  every  penny  of  it  is  yours. ' 

"  He  flung  two  bags  of  gold  upon  the  table,  and  their 
chink  broiight  you  out  from  behind  your  mother. 

"'Hallo!'  Adam  cried. 

'"He  is  mine,'  I  said.  'Gavin,  come  here.'  But 
Margaret  held  you  back. 

"'Here's  a  go,'  Adam  muttered,  and  scratched  his 
head.  Then  he  slapped  his  thigh.  'Gavin,'  he  said, 
in  his  friendliest  way,  'we'll  toss  for  him.' 


Storg  of  tbe  Bomtnfe.  307 

'*  He  pulled  the  knife  that  is  now  in  my  desk  from 
his  pocket,  spat  on  it,  and  flung  it  up.  'Dry,  the  kid's 
ours,  Meggy,'  he  explained;  'wet,  he  goes  to  Gavin.' 

I  clinched  my  fist  to But  what  was  the  use?  He 

caught  the  knife,  and  showed  it  to  me. 

"  'Dry,' he  said  triumphantly;  '  so  he  is  ours,  Meggy. 
Kiddy,  catch  the  knife.  It  is  yours;  and,  mind,  you 
have  changed  dads.  And  now  that  we  have  settled 
that,  Gavin,  there's  my  hand  again. ' 

"  I  went  away  and  left  them,  and  I  never  saw  Mar- 
garet again  until  the  day  you  brought  her  to  Thrums. 
But  I  saw  you  once,  a  few  days  after  Adam  came  back. 
I  was  in  the  school-house,  packing  my  books,  and  you 
were  playing  on  the  waste  ground.  I  asked  you  how 
your  mother  was,  and  you  said,  'She's  fleid  to  come  to  the 
door  till  you  gang  awa,  and  my  father's  buying  a  boat. ' 

"'I'm  your  father,'  I  said;  but  you  answered  confi- 
dently : 

"  'You're  no  a  living  man.  You're  just  a  man  I 
dreamed  about ;  and  I  promised  my  mother  no  to  dream 
about  you  again. ' 

" 'I  am  your  father,'  I  repeated. 

"'My  father's  awa  buying  a  fishing-boat,'  you  insist- 
ed; 'and  when  I  speir  at  my  mother  whaur  my  first  fa- 
ther is,  she  says  I'm  havering.' 

"  'Gavin  Ogilvy  is  your  name, '  I  said.  'No, '  you  an- 
swered, 'I  have  a  new  name.  My  mother  telled  me  my 
name  is  aye  to  be  Gavin  Dishart  now.  She  telled  me, 
too,  to  fling  awa  this  knife  my  father  gave  me,  and  I've 
flung  it  awa  a  lot  o*  times,  but  I  aye  pick  it  up  again. ' 

" 'Give  it  to  me,'  I  said,  with  the  wicked  thoughts  of 
a  fool  in  my  head. 

"  That  is  how  your  knife  came  into  my  possession.  I 
left  Harvie  that  night  in  the  carrier's  cart,  but  I  had  not 
the  heart  to  return  to  college.  Accident  brought  me 
here,  and  I  thought  it  a  fitting-  place  in  which  to  bury 
myselt  trom  Margaret." 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

SECOND  JOURNEY   OF  THE    DOMINIE  TO  THRUMS    DURING 
THE  TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS. 

HERE  was  a  nauseous  draught  for  me.  Having  fin- 
ished my  tale,  I  turned  to  Gavin  for  sympathy;  and, 
behold,  he  had  been  listening  for  the  cannon  instead  of 
to  my  final  words.  So,  like  an  old  woman  at  her  hearth, 
we  warm  our  hands  at  our  sorrows  and  drop  in  faggots, 
and  each  thinks  his  own  fire  a  sun,  in  presence  of  which 
all  other  fires  should  go  out.  I  was  soured  to  see  Gavin 
prove  this,  and  then  I  could  have  laughed  without 
mirth,  for  had  not  my  bitterness  proved  it  too? 

"  And  now, "  I  said,  rising,  "  whether  Margaret  is  to 
hold  up  her  head  henceforth  lies  no  longer  with  me,  but 
with  you. " 

It  was  not  to  that  he  replied. 

"You  have  suffered  long,  Mr.  Ogilvy,"  he  said. 
"Father,"  he  added,  wringing  my  hand.  I  called  him 
son ;  but  it  was  only  an  exchange  of  musty  words  that 
we  had  found  too  late.  A  father  is  a  poor  estate  to 
come  into  at  two  and  twenty. 

"  I  should  have  been  told  of  this,"  he  said. 

"Your  mother  did  right,  sir,"  I  answered  slowly,  but 
he  shook  his  head. 

"  I  think  you  have  misjudged  her,"  he  said.  "  Doubt- 
less while  my  fa — ,  while  Adam  Dishart  lived,  she 
could  only  think  of  you  with  pain;  but  after  his 
death " 

''  After  his  death,"  I  said  quietly,  "  I  was  still  so  hor- 
rible to  her  that  she  left  TI  irvie  without  letting  a  soul 


Second  3-ourneB  to  ftbrums.  309 

know  whither  she  was  bound.  She  dreaded  my  follow- 
ing her." 

"  Stranger  to  me,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  than  even 
your  story  is  her  being  able  to  keep  it  from  me.  I  be- 
lieved no  thought  ever  crossed  her  mind  that  she  did  not 
let  me  share." 

"And  none,  I  am  sure,  ever  did,"  I  answered,  "save 
that,  and  such  thoughts  as  a  woman  has  with  God  only. 
It  was  my  lot  to  bring  disgrace  on  her.  She  thought  it 
nothing  less,  and  she  has  hidden  it  all  these  years  for 
your  sake,  until  now  it  is  not  burdensome.  I  suppose 
she  feels  that  God  has  taken  the  weight  off  her.  Now 
you  are  to  put  a  heavier  burden  in  its  place." 

He  faced  me  boldly,  and  I  admire  him  for  it  now. 

"I  cannot  admit,"  he  said,  "that  I  did  wrong  in  for- 
getting my  mother  for  that  fateful  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Babbie  and  I  loved  each  other,  and  I  was  given  the 
opportunity  of  making  her  mine  or  losing  her  forever. 
Have  you  forgotten  that  all  this  tragedy  you  have  told 
me  of  only  grew  out  of  your  own  indecision?  I  took 
the  chance  that  you  let  slip  by." 

"I  had  not  forgotten,"  I  replied.  "What  else  made 
me  tell  you  last  night  that  Babbie  was  in  Nanny's 
house?" 

"  But  now  you  are  afraid — now  when  the  deed  is  done, 
when  for  me  there  can  be  no  turning  back.  Whatever 
be  the  issue,  I  should  be  a  cur  to  return  to  Thrums 
without  my  wife.  Every  minute  I  feel  my  strength 
returning,  and  before  you  reach  Thrums  I  will  have  set 
out  to  the  Spittal." 

There  was  nothing  to  say  after  that.  He  came  with 
me  in  the  rain  as  far  as  the  dike,  warning  me  against 
telling  his  people  what  was  not  true. 

"  My  first  part,"  I  answered,  "will  be  to  send  word  to 
your  mother  that  you  are  in  safety.  After  that  I  must 
sec  Whamond.  Much  depends  on  him." 

"  You  will  not  go  to  my  mother?" 


310  Sbe  little  Sinister. 

"  Not  so  long  as  she  has  a  roof  over  her  head,"  I  said, 
"  but  that  may  not  be  for  long. " 

So,  I  think,  we  parted — each  soon  to  forget  the  other 
in  a  woman 

But  I  had  not  gone  far  when  I  heard  something  that 
stopped  me  as  sharply  as  if  it  had  been  McKenzie's 
hand  once  more  on  my  shoulder.  For  a  second  the 
noise  appalled  me,  and  then,  before  the  echo  began,  I 
knew  it  must  be  the  Spittal  cannon.  My  only  thought 
was  one  of  thankfulness.  Now  Gavin  must  see  the  wis- 
dom of  my  reasoning.  I  would  wait  for  him  until  he  was 
able  to  come  with  me  to  Thrums.  I  turned  back,  and 
in  my  haste  I  ran  through  water  I  had  gone  round  before. 

I  was  too  late.  He  was  gone,  and  into  the  rain  I 
shouted  his  name  in  vain,  That  he  had  started  for  the 
Spittal  there  could  be  no  doubt;  that  he  would  ever 
reach  it  was  less  certain.  The  earl's  collie  was  still 
crouching  by  the  fire,  and,  thinking  it  might  be  a  guide 
to  him,  I  drove  the  brute  to  the  door,  and  chased  it 
in  the  direction  he  probably  had  taken.  Not  until  it 
had  run  from  me  did  I  resume  my  own  journey.  I  do 
not  need  to  be  told  that  you  who  read  would  follow 
Gavin  now  rather  than  me ;  but  you  must  bear  with  the 
dominie  for  a  little  while  yet,  as  I  see  no  other  way 
of  making  things  clear. 

In  some  ways  I  was  not  ill-equipped  for  my  attempt. 
I  do  not  know  any  one  of  our  hillsides  as  it  is  known  to 
the  shepherd,  to  whom  every  rabbit-hole  and  glimmer 
of  mica  is  a  landmark;  but  he,  like  his  flock,  has  only 
to  cross  a  dike  to  find  himself  in  a  strange  land,  while 
I  have  been  everywhere  in  the  glen. 

In  the  foreground  the  rain  slanted,  transparent  till  it 
reached  the  ground,  where  a  mist  seemed  to  blow  it 
along  as  wind  ruffles  grass.  In  the  distance  all  was  a 
driving  mist.  I  have  been  out  for  perhaps  an  hour  in 
rains  as  wetting,  and  I  have  watched  floods  from  my 
window,  but  never  since  have  I  known  the  fifth  part  of 


Second  ^ourncB  to  Gbrums.  :MI 


a  season's  rainfall  in  eighteen  hours;  and  if  there 
should  be  the  like  here  again,  we  shall  be  found  bet- 
ter prepared  for  it.  Men  have  been  lost  in  the  glen 
in  mists  so  thick  that  they  could  plunge  their  fingers 
out  of  sight  in  it  as  into  a  meal  girnel;  but  this  mist 
never  came  within  twenty  yards  of  me.  I  was  sur- 
rounded by  it,  however,  as  if  I  was  in  a  round  tent;  and 
out  of  this  tent  I  could  not  walk,  for  it  advanced  with 
me.  On  the  other  side  of  this  screen  were  horrible 
noises,  at  whose  cause  I  could  only  guess,  save  now  and 
again  when  a  tongue  of  water  was  shot  at  my  feet,  or 
great  stones  came  crashing  through  the  canvas  of  mist. 
Then  I  ran  wherever  safety  prompted,  and  thus  tangled 
my  bearings  until  I  was  like  that  one  in  the  child's 
game  who  is  blindfolded  and  turned  round  three  times 
that  he  may  not  know  east  from  west. 

Once  I  stumbled  over  a  dead  sheep  and  a  living 
Iamb  ;  and  in  a  clump  of  trees  which  puzzled  me  —  for 
they  were  where  I  thought  no  trees  should  be  —  a  wood- 
pigeon  flew  to  me,  but  struck  my  breast  with  such  force 
that  I  picked  it  up  dead.  I  saw  no  other  living  thing, 
though  half  a  dozen  times  I  must  have  passed  within 
cry  of  farmhouses.  At  one  time  I  was  in  a  cornfield, 
where  I  had  to  lift  my  hands  to  keep  them  out  of  water, 
and  a  dread  filled  me  that  I  had  wandered  in  a  circle,  and 
was  still  on  Waster  Lunny's  land.  I  plucked  some  corn 
and  held  it  to  my  eyes  to  see  if  it  was  green  ;  but  it  was 
yellow,  and  so  I  knevr  that  at  last  I  was  out  of  the  glen. 

People  up  here  will  complain  if  I  do  not  tell  how  I 
found  the  farmer  of  Green  Brae's  fifty  pounds.  It  is 
one  of  the  best-remembered  incidents  of  the  flood,  and 
happened  shortly  after  I  got  out  of  the  cornfield.  A 
house  rose  suddenly  before  me,  and  I  was  hastening  to 
it  when  as  suddenly  three  of  its  walls  fell.  Before  my 
mind  could  give  a  meaning  to  what  my  eyes  told  it,  the 
water  that  had  brought  down  the  house  had  lifted  me 
off  my  feet  and  flung  me  among  waves.  That  would 


312  ttbe  Xittlc  /BMntster. 

have  been  the  last  of  the  dominie  had  not  struck 
against  a  chest,  then  half-way  on  its  voyage  to  the  sea. 
I  think  the  lid  gave  way  under  me;  but  that  is  sur- 
mise, for  from  the  time  the  house  fell  till  I  was  on  the 
river  in  a  kist  that  was  like  to  be  my  coffin,  is  almost  a 
blank.  After  what  may  have  been  but  a  short  journey, 
though  I  had  time  in  it  to  say  my  prayers  twice,  we 
stopped,  jammed  among  fallen  trees;  and  seeing  a  bank 
within  reach,  I  tried  to  creep  up  it.  In  this  there 
would  have  been  little  difficulty  had  not  the  contents  of 
the  kist  caught  in  my  feet  and  held  on  to  them,  like 
living  things  afraid  of  being  left  behind.  I  let  down 
my  hands  to  disentangle  my  feet,  but  failed ;  and  then, 
grown  desperate,  I  succeeded  in  reaching  firm  ground, 
dragging  I  knew  not  what  after  me.  It  proved  to  be  a 
pillow-slip.  Green  Brae  still  shudders  when  I  tell  him 
that  my  first  impulse  was  to  leave  the  pillow-slip  un- 
opened. However,  I  ripped  it  up,  for  to  undo  the  wet 
strings  that  had  ravelled  round  my  feet  would  have 
wearied  even  a  man  with  a  needle  to  pick  open  the 
knots;  and  among  broken  gimlets,  the  head  of  a  grape, 
and  other  things  no  beggar  would  have  stolen,  I  found 
a  tin  canister  containing  fifty  pounds.  Waster  Lunny 
says  that  this  should  have  made  a  religious  man  of 
Green  Brae,  and  it  did  to  this  extent,  that  he  called  the 
fall  of  the  cotter's  house  providential.  Otherwise  the 
cotter,  at  whose  expense  it  may  be  said  the  money  was 
found,  remains  the  more  religious  man  of  the  two. 

At  last  I  came  to  the  Kelpie's  brig,  and  I  could  have 
wept  in  joy  (and  might  have  been  better  employed), 
when,  like  everything  I  saw  on  that  journey,  it  broke 
suddenly  through  the  mist,  and  seemed  to  run  at  me 
like  a  living  monster.  Next  moment  I  ran  back,  for  as 
I  stepped  upon  the  bridge  I  saw  that  I  had  been  about 
to  walk  into  the  air.  What  was  left  of  the  Kelpie's 
brig  ended  in  mid-stream.  Instead  of  thanking  God 
ior  the  light  without  which  I  should  have  gone  abruptly 
to  my  death,  I  sat  down,  miserable  and  hopeless. 


Second  Sourncg  to  abrums.  sis 

Presently  I  was  up  and  trudging-  to  the  Loups  of 
Malcolm.  At  the  Loups  the  river  runs  narrow  and  deep 
between  cliffs,  and  the  spot  is  so  called  because  one 
Malcolm  jumped  across  it  when  pursued  by  wolves. 
Next  day  he  returned  boastfully  to  look  at  his  jump, 
and  gazing  at  it  turned  dizzy  and  fell  into  the  river. 
Since  that  time  chains  have  been  hung  across  the  Loups 
to  reduce  the  distance  between  the  farms  of  Carwhimple 
and  Keep-What-You-Can  from  a  mile  to  a  hundred 
yards.  You  must  cross  the  chains  on  your  breast. 
They  were  suspended  there  by  Rob  Angus,  who  was 
also  the  first  to  breast  them. 

But  I  never  was  a  Rob  Angus.  When  my  pupils 
practise  what  they  call  the  high  jump,  two  small  boys 
hold  a  string  aloft,  and  the  bigger  ones  run  at  it  gal- 
lantly until  they  reach  it,  when  they  stop  meekly  and 
creep  beneath.  They  will  repeat  this  twenty  times, 
and  yet  never,  when  they  start  for  the  string,  seem  to 
know  where  their  courage  will  fail.  Nay,  they  will 
even  order  the  small  boys  to  hold  the  string  higher. 
I  have  smiled  at  this,  but  it  was  the  same  courage  while 
the  difficulty  is  far  off  that  took  me  to  the  Loups.  At 
sight  of  them  I  turned  away. 

I  prayed  to  God  for  a  little  of  the  mettle  of  other 
men,  and  He  heard  me,  for  with  my  eyes  shut  I  seemed 
to  see  Margaret  beckoning  from  across  the  abyss  as  if 
she  had  need  of  me.  Then  I  rose  calmly  and  tested 
the  chains,  and  crossed  them  on  my  breast.  Many  have 
done  it  with  the  same  danger,  at  which  they  laugh,  but 
without  that  vision  I  should  have  held  back. 

I  was  now  across  the  river,  and  so  had  left  the  chance 
of  drowning  behind,  but  I  was  farther  from  Thrums 
than  when  I  left  the  school-house,  and  this  countryside 
was  almost  unknown  to  me.  The  mist  had  begun  to 
clear,  so  that  I  no  longer  wandered  into  fields;  but 
though  I  kept  to  the  roads,  I  could  not  tell  that  they 
led  toward  Thrums,  and  in  my  exhaustion  I  had  often 
to  stand  still.  Then  to  make  3  new  start  in  the  mud 


814  tTbe  Xlttle  flMnteter. 

was  like  pulling  stakes  out  of  the  ground.  So  long  as 
the  rain  faced  me  I  thought  I  could  not  be  straying  far; 
but  after  an  hour  I  lost  this  guide,  for  a  wind  rose  that 
blew  it  in  all  directions. 

In  another  hour,  when  I  should  have  been  drawing 
near  Thrums,  I  found  myself  in  a  wood,  and  here  I 
think  my  distress  was  greatest;  nor  is  this  to  be  mar- 
velled at,  for  instead  of  being  near  Thrums,  I  was  lis- 
tening to  the  monotonous  roar  of  the  sea.  I  was  too 
spent  to  reason,  but  I  knew  that  I  must  have  travelled 
direct  east,  and  must  be  close  to  the  German  Ocean. 
I  remember  putting  my  back  against  a  tree  and  shutting 
my  eyes,  and  listening  to  the  lash  of  the  waves  against 
the  beach,  and  hearing  the  faint  toll  of  a  bell,  and 
wondering  listlessly  on  what  lighthouse  it  was  ringing. 
Doubtless  I  would  have  lain  down  to  sleep  forever  had 
I  not  heard  another  sound  near  at  hand.  It  was  the 
knock  of  a  hammer  on  wood,  and  might  have  been  a 
fisherman  mending  his  boat.  The  instinct  of  self- 
preservation  carried  me  to  it,  and  presently  I  was  at  a 
little  house.  A  man  was  standing  in  the  rain,  hammer- 
ing new  hinges  to  the  door;  and  though  I  did  not 
recognize  him,  I  saw  with  bewilderment  that  the 
woman  at  his  side  was  Nanny. 

"It's  the  dominie,"  she  cried,  and  her  brother  added: 

"Losh,  sir,  you  hinna  the  look  o'  a  living  man." 

u  Nanny,"  I  said,  in  perplexity,  "what  are  you  doing 
here?" 

"  Whaur  else  should  I  be?"  she  asked. 

I  pressed  my  hands  over  my  eyes,  crying,  "Where 
am  I?" 

Nanny  shrank  from  me,  but  Sanders  said,  "  Has  the 
rain  driven  you  gyte,  man?  You're  in  Thrums." 

"But  the  sea,"  I  said,  distrusting  him.  "I  hear  it. 
Listen !" 

"  That's  the  wind  in  Windyghoul, "  Sanders  answered, 
looking  at  me  queerly.  "  Come  awa  into  the  "house.  ~ 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

THRUMS   DURING  THE  TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS— DEFENCE 
OF  THE  MANSE. 

HARDLY  had  I  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  mudhouse 
when  such  a  sickness  came  over  me  that  I  could  not 
have  looked  up,  though  Nanny's  voice  had  suddenly 
changed  to  Margaret's.  Vaguely  I  knew  that  Nanny 
had  put  the  kettle  on  the  fire — a  woman's  first  thought 
when  there  is  illness  in  the  house — and  as  I  sat  with  my 
hands  over  my  face  I  heard  the  water  dripping  from 
my  clothes  to  the  floor. 

"  Why  is  that  bell  ringing?"  I  asked  at  last,  ignoring 
all  questions  and  speaking  through  my  fingers.  An 
artist,  I  suppose,  could  paint  all  expression  out  of  a 
human  face.  The  sickness  was  having  that  effect  on 
my  voice. 

"It's  the  Auld  Licht  bell,"  Sanders  said;  "and  it's 
almost  as  fearsome  to  listen  to  as  last  nicht's  rain.  I 
wish  I  kent  what  they're  ringing  it  for." 

"Wish  no  sic  things,"  said  Nanny  nervously. 
"  There's  things  it's  best  to  put  off  kenning  as  lang  as 
we  can." 

"  It's  that  ill-cleakit  witch,  Effie  McBean,  that  makes 
Nanny  speak  so  doleful,"  Sanders  told  me.  "There 
was  to  be  a  prayer-meeting  last  nicht,  but  Mr.  Dishart 
never  came  to  't,  though  they  rang  till  they  wraxed 
their  arms;  and  now  Effie  says  it'll  ring  on  by  itsel'  till 
he's  brocht  hame  a  corp.  The  hellicat  says  the  rain's  a 
dispensation  to  drown  him  in  for  neglect  o'  duty.  Sal, 
I  would  think  little  o*  the  Lord  if  He  needed  to  create 


3i6  Cbe  Xittlc  /BMnfster. 

a  new  sea  to  drown  one  man  in.  Nanny,  yon  cuttie, 
that's  no  swearing;  I  defy  you  to  find  a  single  lonely 
oath  in  what  I've  said." 

"Never  mind  Effie  McBean,"  I  interposed.  "What 
are  the  congregation  saying  about  the  minister's- 
absence?" 

"  We  ken  little  except  what  Effie  telled  us, "  Nanny 
answered.  "  I  was  at  Tilliedrum  yestreen,  meeting 
Sanders  as  he  got  out  o'  the  gaol,  and  that  awfu  on- 
ding  began  when  we  was  on  the  Bellies  Braes.  We 
focht  our  way  through  it,  but  not  a  soul  did  we  meet; 
and  wha  would  gang  out  the  day  that  can  bide  at  hame? 
Ay,  but  Effie  says  it's  kent  in  Thrums  that  Mr.  Dishart 
has  run  off  wi' — wi'  an  Egyptian." 

"You're  waur  than  her,  Nanny,"  Sanders  said 
roughly,  "  for  you  hae  twa  reasons  for  kenning  better. 
In  the  first  place,  has  Mr.  Dishart  no  keeped  you  in 
siller  a*  the  time  I  was  awa?  and  for  another,  have  I  no 
been  at  the  manse?" 

My  head  rose  now. 

"  He  gaed  to  the  manse,"  Nanny  explained,  "  to  thank 
Mr.  Dishart  for  being  so  good  to  me.  Ay,  but  Jean 
wouldna  let  him  in.  I'm  thinking  that  looks  gey  gray. " 

"  Whatever  was  her  reason, "  Sanders  admitted,  "  Jean 
wouldna  open  the  door ;  but  I  keeked  in  at  the  parlor 
window,  and  saw  Mrs.  Dishart  in't  looking  very  cosy- 
like  and  lauching;  and  do  you  think  I  would  hae  seen 
that  if  ill  had  come  ower  the  minister?" 

"Not  if  Margaret  knew  of  it,"  I  said  to  myself,  and 
wondered  at  Whamond's  forbearance. 

"  She  had  a  skein  o'  worsted  stretched  out  on  her 
hands,"  Sanders  continued,  "and  a  young  leddy  was 
winding  it.  I  didna  see  her  richt,  but  she  wasna  a 
Thrums  leddy." 

:<  Effie  McBean  says  she's  his  intended,  come  to  call 
him  to  account,"  Nanny  said;  but  I  hardly  listened, 
for  I  saw  that  I  must  hurry  to  Tammas  Whamond's, 


Dctencc  of  tbc  toanse.  sn 

Nanny  followed  me  to  the  gate  with  her  gown  pulled 
over  her  head,  and  said  excitedly : 

"Oh,  dominie,  I  warrant  it's  true.  It'll  be  Babbie. 
Sanders  doesna  suspect,  because  I've  telled  him  noth- 
ing about  her.  Oh,  what's  to  be  done?  They  were 
baith  so  good  to  me." 

I  could  only  tell  her  to  keep  what  she  knew  to  herself. 

"  Has  Rob  Dow  come  back?"  I  called  out  after  I  had 
started. 

"  Whaur  frae?"  she  replied;  and  then  I  remembered 
that  all  these  things  had  happened  while  Nanny  was  at 
Tilliedrum.  In  this  life  some  of  the  seven  ages  are 
spread  over  two  decades,  and  others  pass  as  quickly  as 
a  stage  play.  Though  a  fifth  of  a  season's  rain  had 
fallen  in  a  night  and  a  day,  it  had  scarcely  kept  pace 
with  Gavin. 

I  hurried  to  the  town  by  the  Roods.  That  brae  was 
as  deserted  as  the  country  roads,  except  where  children 
had  escaped  from  their  mothers  to  wade  in  it.  Here 
and  there  dams  were  keeping  the  water  away  from  one 
door  to  send  it  with  greater  volume  to  another,  and  at 
points  the  ground  had  fallen  in.  But  this  I  noticed 
without  interest.  I  did  not  even  realize  that  I  was 
holding  my  head  painfully  to  the  side  where  it  had  been 
blown  by  the  wind  and  glued  by  the  rain.  I  have 
never  held  my  head  straight  since  that  journey. 

Only  a  few  looms  were  going,  their  pedals  in  water. 
I  was  addressed  from  several  doors  and  windows,  once 
by  Charles  Yuill. 

"Dinna  pretend,"  he  said,  "that  you've  walked  in 
frae  the  school-house  alane.  The  rain  chased  me  into 
this  house  yestreen,  and  here  it  has  keeped  me,  though 
I  bide  no  further  awa  than  Tillyloss." 

"Charles,"  I  said  in  a  low  voice,  "why  is  the  Auld 
Licht  bell  ringing?" 

"  Hae  you  no  heard  about  Mr.  Dishart?"  he  asked. 
"  Oh,  man!  that's  Lang  Tammas  in  the  kirk  by  himsel', 


I 

318  Gbe  Xittle  flbtnister. 

tearing  at  the  bell  to  bring  the  folk  thegither  to  depose 
the  minister." 

Instead  of  going  to  Wharaond's  house  in  the  school 
wynd  I  hastened  down  the  Banker's  close  to  the  kirk, 
and  had  almost  to  turn  back,  so  choked  was  the  close 
with  floating  refuse.  I  could  see  the  bell  swaying,  but 
the  kirk  was  locked,  and  I  battered  on  the  door  to  no 
purpose.  Then,  remembering  that  Henry  Munn  lived 
in  Coutt's  trance,  I  set  off  for  his  house.  He  saw  me 
crossing  the  square,  but  would  not  open  his  door  until 
I  was  close  to  it. 

"When  I  open,"  he  cried,  "squeeze  through  quick"; 
but  though  I  did  his  bidding,  a  rush  of  water  darted  in 
before  me.  Hendry  reclosed  the  door  by  flinging 
himself  against  it. 

"When  I  saw  )rou  crossing  the  square,"  he  said,  "it 
was  surprise  enough  to  cure  the  hiccup." 

"Hendry,"!  replied  instantly,  "why  is  the  Auld 
Licht  bell  ringing?" 

He  put  his  finger  to  his  lip.  "  I  see,"  he  said  imper- 
turbably,  "you've  met  our  folk  in  the  glen  and  heard 
frae  them  about  the  minister." 

"What  folk?" 

"  Mair  than  half  the  congregation, "  he  replied,  "  I 
started  for  Glen  Quharity  twa  hours  syne  to  help  the 
farmers.  You  didna  see  them?" 

"No;  they  must  have  been  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river."  Again  that  question  forced  my  lips,  "Why  is 
the  bell  ringing?" 

"Canny,  dominie,"  he  said,  "till  we're  up  the  stair. 
Mysy  Moncur's  lug's  at  her  keyhole  listening  to  you." 

"You  lie,  Hendry  Munn,"  cried  an  invisible  woman. 
The  voice  became  more  plaintive:  "  I  ken  a  heap,  Hen- 
dry,  so  you  may  as  well  tell  me  a'." 

"  Lick  away  at  the  bone  you  hae, "  the  shoemaker  re- 
plied heartlessly,  and  conducted  me  to  his  room  up  one 
of  the  few  inside  stairs  then  in  Thrums.  Hendry 's 


defence  of  tbc  flT.anse.  sit 

oddest  furniture  was  five  boxes,  fixed  to  the  wall  at 
such  a  height  that  children  could  climb  into  them  from 
a  high  stool.  In  these  his  bairns  slept,  and  so  space 
was  economized.  I  could  never  laugh  at  the  arrange- 
ment, as  I  knew  that  Betty  had  planned  it  on  her 
deathbed  for  her  man's  sake.  Five  little  heads  bobbed 
up  in  their  beds  as  I  entered,  but  more  vexing  to  me 
was  Wearyworld  on  a  stool. 

"In  by,  dominie,"  he  said  sociably.  "Sal,  you 
needna  fear  burning  wi'  a'  that  water  on  you.  You're 
in  mair  danger  o'  coming  a-boil. " 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  alone,  Hendry, "  I  said 
bluntly. 

"You  winna  put  me  out,  Hendry?"  the  alarmed 
policeman  entreated.  "  Mind,  you  said  in  sic  weather 
you  would  be  friendly  to  a  brute  beast.  Ay,  ay,  domi- 
nie, what's  your  news?  It's  welcome,  be  it  good  or 
bad.  You  would  meet  the  townsfolk  in  the  glen,  and 
they  would  tell  you  about  Mr.  Dishart.  What,  you 
hinna  heard?  Oh,  sirs,  he's  a  lost  man.  There  would 
hae  been  a  meeting  the  day  to  depose  him  if  so  many 
hadna  gaen  to  the  glen.  But  the  morn '11  do  as  weel. 
The  very  women  is  cursing-  him,  and  the  laddies  has 
begun  to  gather  stanes.  He's  married  on  an  Egyp " 

"  Hendry!"  I  cried,  like  one  giving  an  order. 

"Wearyworld,  step!"  said  Hendry  sternly,  and  then 
added  soft-heartedly :  "Here's  a  bit  news  that'll  open 
Mysy  Moncur's  door  to  you.  You  can  tell  her  frae  me 
that  the  bell's  ringing  just  because  I  forgot  to  tie  it  up 
last  nicht,  and  the  wind's  shaking  it,  and  I  winna  gang 
out  in  the  rain  to  stop  it." 

"Ay,"  the  policeman  said,  looking  at  me  sulkily, 
"  she  may  open  her  door  for  that,  but  it'll  no  let  me  in. 
Tell  me  mair.  Tell  me  wha  the  leddy  at  the  manse  is." 

"Out  you  go,"  answered  Hendry.  "Once  she  opens 
the  door,  you  can  shove  your  foot  in,  and  syne  she's  in 
vour  power."  He  pushed  Wearyworld  out,  and  came 


330  Sbe  tittle  /Btnfstcr. 

back  to  me,  saying,  "  It  was  best  to  tell  him  the  truth, 
to  keep  him  frae  making  up  lies." 

"  But  is  it  the  truth?     I  was  told  Lang  Tammas " 

"Ay,  I  ken  that  story;  but  Tammas  has  other  work 
on  hand." 

"  Then  tie  up  the  bell  at  once,  Hendry,"  I  urged. 

"  I  canna,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  Tammas  took  the 
keys  o'  the  kirk  fram  me  yestreen,  and  winna  gie  them 
up.  He  says  the  bell's  being  rung  by  the  hand  o'  God. " 

"  Has  he  been  at  the  manse?  Does  Mrs.  Dishart 
know ?" 

"  He's  been  at  the  manse  twa  or  three  times,  but  Jean 
barred  him  out.  She'll  let  nobody  in  till  the  minister 
comes  back,  and  so  the  mistress  kens  nothing.  But 
what's  the  use  o'  keeping  it  frae  her  ony  langer?" 

"  Every  use, "  I  said. 

"None,"  answered  Hendry  sadly.  "Dominie,  the 
minister  was  married  to  the  Egyptian  on  the  hill  last 
nicht,  and  Tammas  was  witness.  Not  only  were  they 
married,  but  they've  run  aff  thegither. " 

"You  are  wrong,  Hendry,"  I  assured  him,  telling  as 
much  as  I  dared.  "  I  left  Mr.  Dishart  in  my  house." 

"  What !  But  if  that  is  so,  how  did  he  no  come  back 
wi'  you?" 

"  Because  he  was  nearly  drowned  in  the  flood. " 

"She'll  be  wi'  him?" 

"  He  was  alone." 

Hendry's  face  lit  up  dimly  with  joy,  and  then  he 
shook  his  head.  "Tammas  was  witness,"  he  said. 
"Can  you  deny  the  marriage?" 

"  All  I  ask  of  you,"  I  answered  guardedly,  "  is  to  sus- 
pend judgment  until  the  minister  returns." 

"There  can  be  nothing  done,  at  ony  rate,"  he  said, 
"till  the  folk  themsel's  come  back  frae  the  glen;  and  I 
needna  tell  you  how  glad  we  would  a'  be  to  be  as  fond 
o'  him  as  ever.  But  Tammas  was  witness." 

"  Have  pity  on  his  mother,  man." 


Defence  of  tbe  dftanse.  321 

"We've  done  the  best  for  her  we  could,"  he  replied. 
:*  We  prigged  wi'  Tammas  no  to  gang  to  the  manse  till 
we  was  sure  the  minister  was  living.  'For  if  he  has 
been  drowned,'  we  said,  'his  mother  need  never  ken 
what  we  were  thinking  o'  doing. '  Ay,  and  we're  sorry 
for  the  young  leddy,  too." 

"  What  young  lady  is  this  you  all  talk  of?"  I  asked. 

"  She's  his  intended.  Ay,  you  needna  start.  She 
has  come  a'  the  road  frae  Glasgow  to  challenge  him 
about  the  gypsy.  The  pitiful  thing  is  that  Mrs.  Dish- 
artlauchedawaher  fears,  and  now  they 're  baith  waiting 
for  his  return,  as  happy  as  ignorance  can  make  them." 

"There  is  no  such  lady,"  I  said. 

"  But  there  is,"  he  answered  doggedly,  "  for  she  came 
in  a  machine  late  last  nicht,  and  I  was  ane  o'  a  dozen 
that  baith  heard  and  saw  it  through  my  window.  It 
stopped  at  the  manse  near  half  an  hour.  What's  mair, 
the  lady  hersel'  was  at  Sam'l  Farquh arson's  in  the 
Tenements  the  day  for  twa  hours." 

I  listened  in  bewilderment  and  fear. 

"  Sam'l's  bairn's  down  wi'  scarlet  fever  and  like  to  die, 
and  him  being  a  widow-man  he  has  gone  useless.  You 
mauna  blame  the  wives  in  the  Tenements  for  hauding 
back.  They're  fleid  to  smit  their  ain  litlins;  and  as  it 
happens,  Sam'l's  friends  is  a'  aff  to  the  glen.  Weel,  he 
ran  greeting  to  the  manse  for  Mr.  Dishart,  and  the  lady 
heard  him  crying  to  Jean  through  the  door,  and  what 
does  she  do  but  gang  straucht  to  the  Tenements  wi' 
Sam'l.  Her  goodness  has  naturally  put  the  folk  on  her 
side  against  the  minister." 

"This  does  not  prove  her  his  intended,"  I  broke  in. 

"  She  was  heard  saying  to  Sam'l,"  answered  the  kirk 
officer,  "  that  the  minister  being  awa,  it  was  her  duty  to 
take  his  place.  Yes,  and  though  she  little  kent  it,  he 
was  already  married." 

"Ilendry,"  I  said,  rising,  "I  must  see  this  lady  at 
once.  Is  she  still  at  Farqnharson's  house?" 

21 


322  Cbe  Xittle  flMnteter. 

"  She  may  be  back  again  by  this  time.  Tammas  set 
off  for  Sam'l's  as  soon  as  he  heard  she  was  there,  but  he 
just  missed  her.  I  left  him  there  an  hour  syne.  He 
was  waiting  for  her,  determined  to  tell  her  all. " 

I  set  off  for  the  Tenements  at  once,  declining  Hen- 
dry's  company.  The  wind  had  fallen,  so  that  the  bell 
no  longer  rang,  but  the  rain  was  falling  doggedly. 
The  streets  were  still  deserted.  I  pushed  open  the  pre- 
centor's door  in  the  school  wynd,  but  there  was  no  one 
in  the  house.  Tibbie  Birse  saw  me,  and  shouted  from 
her  door: 

"  Hae  you  heard  o'  Mr.  Dishart?  He'll  never  daur 
show  face  in  Thrums  again." 

Without  giving  her  a  word  I  hastened  to  the  Tene- 
ments. 

"The  leddy's  no  here,"  Sam'l  Farquharson  told  me, 
"and  Tammas  is  back  at  the  manse  again,  trying  to 
force  his  way  in." 

From  Sam'l,  too,  I  turned,  with  no  more  than  a 
groan ;  but  he  cried  after  me,  "  Perdition  on  the  man 
that  has  played  that  leddy  false." 

Had  Margaret  been  at  her  window  she  must  have 
seen  me,  so  recklessly  did  I  hurry  up  the  minister's 
road,  with  nothing  in  me  but  a  passion  to  take  Wha- 
mond  by  the  throat.  He  was  not  in  the  garden.  The 
kitchen  door  was  open.  Jean  was  standing  at  it  with 
her  apron  to  her  eyes. 

"Tammas  Whamond?"  I  demanded,  and  my  face 
completed  the  question. 

"You're  ower  late,"  she  wailed.  "He's  wi'  her. 
Oh,  dominie, whaur's  the  minister?" 

"You  base  woman!"  I  cried,  "why  did  you  unbar 
the  door?" 

"It  was  the  mistress,"  she  answered.  "She  heard 
him  shaking  it,  and  I  had  to  tell  her  wha  it  was.  Dom- 
inie, it's  a'  my  wite!  He  tried  to  get  in  last  nicht,  and 
roared  threats  through  the  door,  and  after  he  had  gone 


Defence  or  tbe  /Ibanse.  323 

awa  she  speired  wha  I  had  been  speaking  to.  I  had  to 
tell  her,  but  I  said  he  had  come  to  let  her  ken  that  the 
minister  was  taking  shelter  frae  the  rain  in  a  farmhouse. 
Ay,  I  said  he  was  to  bide  there  till  the  flood  gaed  down, 
and  that's  how  she  has  been  easy  a'  day.  I  acted  for 
the  best,  but  I'm  sair  punished  now ;  for  when  she  heard 
Tammas  at  the  door  twa  or  three  minutes  syne,  she 
ordered  me  to  let  him  in,  so  that  she  could  thank  him 
for  bringing  the  news  last  nicht,  despite  the  rain. 
They're  in  the  parlor.  Oh,  dominie,  gang  in  and  stop 
his  mouth. " 

This  was  hard.  I  dared  not  go  to  the  parlor. 
Margaret  might  have  died  at  sight  of  me.  I  turned  my 
face  from  Jean. 

"Jean,"  said  some  one,  opening  the  inner  kitchen 
door,  "why  did  you ?" 

She  stopped,  and  that  was  what  turned  me  round. 
As  she  spoke  I  thought  it  was  the  young  lady ;  when  I 
looked  I  saw  it  was  Babbie,  though  no  longer  in  a 
gypsy's  dress.  Then  I  knew  that  the  young  lady  and 
Babbie  were  one. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

HOW  BABBIE  SPENT  THE  NIGHT  OF  AUGUST   FOURTH. 

How  had  the  Egyptian  been  spirited  here  from  the 
Spittal?  I  did  not  ask  the  question.  To  interest  my- 
self in  Babbie  at  that  dire  hour  of  Margaret's  life  would 
have  been  as  impossible  to  me  as  to  sit  down  to  a  book. 
To  others,  however,  it  is  only  an  old  woman  on  whom 
the  parlor  door  of  the  manse  has  closed,  only  a  garru- 
lous dominie  that  is  in  pain  outside  it.  Your  eyes  are 
on  the  young  wife. 

When  Babbie  was  plucked  off  the  hill,  she  thought  as 
little  as  Gavin  that  her  captor  was  Rob  Dow.  Close  as 
he  was  to  her,  he  was  but  a  shadow  until  she  screamed 
the  second  time,  when  he  pressed  her  to  the  ground  and 
tied  his  neckerchief  over  her  mouth.  Then,  in  the 
moment  that  power  of  utterance  was  taken  from  her, 
she  saw  the  face  that  had  startled  her  at  Nanny's  win- 
dow. Half-carried,  she  was  borne  forward  rapidly, 
until  some  one  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  broom  and 
strike  them  both.  They  had  only  run  against  the  doc- 
tor's trap;  and  huddling  her  into  it,  Dow  jumped  up 
beside  her.  He  tied  her  hands  together  with  a  cord. 
For  a  time  the  horse  feared  the  darkness  in  front  more 
than  the  lash  behind;  but  when  the  rains  became  ter- 
rific, it  rushed  ahead  wildly — probably  with  its  eyes 
shut. 

In  three  minutes  Babbie  went  through  all  the  de- 
grees of  fear.  In  the  first  she  thought  Lord  Rintoul 
had  kidnapped  her;  but  no  sooner  had  her  captor  re- 
solved himself  into  Dow,  drunk  with  the  events  of  the 


ttbe  fliflbt  of  Zlusugt  ffourtb.  325 

day  and  night,  than  in  the  earl's  hands  would  have  lain 
safety.  Next,  Dow  was  forgotten  in  the  dread  of  a 
sudden  death  which  he  must  share.  And  lastly,  the 
rain  seemed  to  be  driving  all  other  horrors  back,  that  it 
might  have  her  for  its  own.  Her  perils  increased  tof 
the  unbearable  as  quickly  as  an  iron  in  the  fire  passes* 
through  the  various  stages  between  warmth  and  white 
heat.  Then  she  had  to  do  something ;  and  as  she  could 
not  cry  out,  she  flung  herself  from  the  dogcart.  She 
fell  heavily  in  Caddam  Wood,  but  the  rain  would  not 
let  her  lie  there  stunned.  It  beat  her  back  to  conscious- 
ness, and  she  sat  up  on  her  knees  and  listened  breath- 
lessly, staring  in  the  direction  the  trap  had  taken,  as  if 
her  eyes  could  help  her  ears. 

All  night,  I  have  said,  the  rain  poured,  but  those 
charges  only  rode  down  the  deluge  at  intervals,  as  now 
and  again  one  wave  greater  than  the  others  stalks  over 
the  sea.  In  the  first  lull  it  appeared  to  Babbie  that  the 
storm  had  swept  by,  leaving  her  to  Dow.  Now  she 
heard  the  rubbing  of  the  branches,  and  felt  the  torn 
leaves  falling  on  her  gown.  She  rose  to  feel  her  way 
out  of  the  wood  with  her  bound  hands,  then  sank  in  ter- 
ror, for  some  one  had  called  her  name.  Next  moment 
she  was  up  again,  for  the  voice  was  Gavin's,  who  was 
hurrying  after  her,  as  he  thought,  down  Windyghoul. 
He  was  no  farther  away  than  a  whisper  might  have 
carried  on  a  still  night,  but  she  dared  not  pursue  him, 
for  already  Dow  was  coming  back.  She  could  not  see 
him,  but  she  heard  the  horse  whinny  and  the  rocking  of 
the  dogcart.  Dow  was  now  at  the  brute's  head,  and 
probably  it  tried  to  bite  him,  for  he  struck  it,  crying: 

"  Would  you?  Stand  still  till  I  find  her.  I  heard  her 
move  this  minute." 

Babbie  crouched  upon  a  big  stone  and  sat  motionless 
while  he  groped  for  her.  Her  breathing  might  have 
been  tied  now,  as  well  as  her  mouth.  She  heard  him 
feeling  for  her,  first  with  his  feet  and  then  with  his 


326  Cbe  kittle 

hands,  and  swearing  when  his  head  struck  against  a 
tree. 

"I  ken  you're  within  hearing,"  he  muttered,  "and 
I'll  hae  you  yet.  I  have  a  gully-knife  in  my  hand. 
Listen!" 

He  severed  a  whin-stalk  with  the  knife,  and  Babbie 
seemed  to  see  the  gleam  of  the  blade. 

"What  do  I  mean  by  wanting  to  kill  you?"  he  said, 
as  if  she  had  asked  the  question.  "  Do  you  no  ken  wha 
said  to  me,  'Kill  this  woman?'  It  was  the  Lord.  'I 
winna  kill  her,'  I  said,  'but  I'll  cart  her  out  o'  the  coun- 
try.' 'Kill  her, '  says  He;  'why  encumbereth  she  the 
ground?'  " 

He  resumed  his  search,  but  with  new  tactics.  "  I  see 
you  now,"  he  would  cry,  and  rush  forward  perhaps 
within  a  yard  of  her.  Then  she  must  have  screamed 
had  she  had  the  power.  When  he  tied  that  neckerchief 
round  her  mouth  he  prolonged  her  life. 

Then  came  the  second  hurricane  of  rain,  so  appalling 
that  had  Babbie's  hands  been  free  she  would  have 
pressed  them  to  her  ears.  For  a  full  minute  she  forgot 
Dow's  presence.  A  living  thing  touched  her  face. 
The  horse  had  found  her.  She  recoiled  from  it,  but  its 
frightened  head  pressed  heavily  on  her  shoulder.  She 
rose  and  tried  to  steal  away,  but  the  brute  followed,  and 
as  the  rain  suddenly  exhausted  itself  she  heard  the  drag- 
ging of  the  dogcart.  She  had  to  halt. 

Again  she  heard  Dow's  voice.  Perhaps  he  had  been 
speaking  throughout  the  roar  of  the  rain.  If  so,  it  must 
have  made  him  deaf  to  his  own  words.  He  groped  for 
the  horse's  head,  and  presently  his  hand  touched  Bab- 
bie's dress,  then  jumped  from  it,  so  suddenly  had  he 
found  her.  No  sound  escaped  him,  and  she  was  begin- 
ning to  think  it  possible  that  he  had  mistaken  her  for  a 
bush  when  his  hand  went  over  her  face.  He  was  mak- 
ing sure  of  his  discover)^. 

"The  Lord  has  delivered  you  into  my  hands,"  he 


Cbe  *U0bt  of  august  tfourtb.  9S< 

said  in  a  low  voice,  with  some  awe  in  it.  Then  he 
pulled  her  to  the  ground,  and,  sitting  down  beside  her, 
rocked  himself  backward  and  forward,  his  hands  round 
his  knees.  She  would  have  bartered  the  world  for 
power  to  speak  to  him. 

"  He  wouldna  hear  o'  my  just  carting  you  to  some 
other  countryside,"  he  said  confidentially.  "  'The  devil 
would  just  blaw  her  back  again,'  says  He,  'therefore 
kill  her.'  'And  if  I  kill  her,'  I  says,  'they'll  hang  me.' 
'You  can  hang  yoursel','  says  He.  'What  wi'?'  I  speirs. 
'Wi'  the  reins  o*  the  dogcart,'  says  He.  'They  would 
break,'  says  I.  'Weel,  weel, '  says  He,  'though  they  do 
hang  you,  nobody'll  miss  you.'  'That's  true,'  says  I, 
'and  You  are  a  just  God. '  " 

He  stood  up  and  confronted  her. 

"Prisoner  at  the  bar,"  he  said,  "hae  ye  ony thing  to 
say  why  sentence  of  death  shouldna  be  pronounced 
against  you?  She  doesna  answer.  She  kens  death  is 
her  deserts. " 

By  this  time  he  had  forgotten  probably  why  his  vic- 
tim was  dumb. 

"  Prisoner  at  the  bar,  hand  back  to  me  the  soul  o' 
Gavin  Dishart.  You  winna?  Did  the  devil,  your  mas- 
ter, summon  you  to  him  and  say,  'Either  that  noble 
man  or  me  maun  leave  Thrums?'  He  did.  And  did 
you,  or  did  you  no,  drag  that  minister,  when  under 
your  spell,  to  the  hill,  and  there  marry  him  ower  the 
tongs?  You  did.  Witnesses,  Rob  Dow  and  Tammas 
Whamond." 

She  was  moving  from  him  on  her  knees,  meaning 
when  out  of  arm's  reach  to  make  a  dash  for  life. 

"Sit  down,"  he  grumbled,  "or  how  can  you  expect  a 
fair  trial?  Prisoner  at  the  bar,  you  have  been  found 
guilty  of  witchcraft." 

For  the  first  time  his  voice  faltered. 

"That's  the  difficult)',  for  witches  canna  die,  except 
by  burning  or  drowning.  There's  no  blood  in  you  for 


328  Cbe  Xfttle  /Minister. 

my  knife,  and  your  neck  wouldna  twist.  Your  master 
has  brocht  the  rain  to  put  out  a'  the  fires,  and  we'll  hae 
to  wait  till  it  runs  into  a  pool  deep  enough  to  drown 
you. 

"  I  wonder  at  You,  God.  Do  You  believe  her 
master'll  mak'  the  pool  for  her?  He'll  rather  stop  his 
rain.  Mr.  Dishart  said  You  was  mair  powerful  than 
the  devil,  but  it  doesna  look  like  it.  If  You  had  the 
power,  how  did  You  no  stop  this  woman  working  her 
will  on  the  minister?  You  kent  what  she  was  doing, 
for  You  ken  a'  things.  Mr.  Dishart  says  You  ken  a' 
things.  If  You  do,  the  mair  shame  to  You.  Would  a 
shepherd,  that  could  help  it,  let  dogs  worry  his  sheep? 
Kill  her!  It's  fine  to  cry  'Kill  her,'  but  whaur's  the 
bonfire,  whaur's  the  pool?  You  that  made  the  heaven 
and  the  earth  and  all  that  in  them  is,  can  You  no  set 
fire  to  some  wet  whins,  or  change  this  stane  into  a 
mill-dam?" 

He  struck  the  stone  with  his  fist,  and  then  gave  a  cry 
of  exultation.  He  raised  the  great  slab  in  his  arms 
and  flung  it  from  him.  In  that  moment  Babbie  might 
have  run  away,  but  she  fainted.  Almost  simultaneously 
with  Dow  she  knew  this  was  the  stone  which  covered 
the  Caddam  well.  When  she  came  to,  Dow  was  speak- 
ing, and  his  voice  had  become  solemn. 

"  You  said  your  master  was  mair  powerful  than  mine, 
and  I  said  it  too,  and  all  the  time  you  was  sitting  here 
wi'  the  very  pool  aneath  you  that  I  have  been  praying 
for.  Listen !" 

He  dropped  a  stone  into  the  well,  and  she  heard  it 
strike  the  water. 

"What  are  you  shaking  at?"  he  said  in  reproof. 
"Was  it  no  yoursel'  that  chose  the  spot?  Lassie,  say 
your  prayers.  Are  you  saying  them?" 

He  put  his  hand  over  her  face,  to  feel  if  her  lips  were 
moving,  and  tore  off  the  neckerchief. 

And  then  again  the  rain  came  between  them.     In 


*U0bt  of  Bu0u6t  fourth.  329 

that  rain  one  could  not  think.  Babbie  did  not  know 
that  she  had  bitten  through  the  string  that  tied  her 
hands.  She  planned  no  escape.  But  she  flung  herself 
at  the  place  where  Dow  had  been  standing.  He  was  no 
longer  there,  and  she  fell  heavily,  and  was  on  her  feet 
again  in  an  instant  and  running  recklessly.  Trees  in- 
tercepted her,  and  she  thought  they  were  Dow,  and 
wrestled  with  them.  By  and  by  she  fell  into  Windy- 
ghoul,  and  there  she  crouched  until  all  her  senses  were 
restored  to  her,  when  she  remembered  that  she  had  been 
married  lately. 

How  long  Dow  was  in  discovering  that  she  had  es- 
caped, and  whether  he  searched  for  her,  no  one  knows. 
After  a  time  he  jumped  into  the  dogcart  again,  and 
drove  aimlessly  through  the  rain.  That  wild  journey 
probably  lasted  two  hours,  and  came  to  an  abrupt  end 
only  when  a  tree  fell  upon  the  trap.  The  horse  gal- 
loped off,  but  one  of  Dow's  legs  .was  beneath  the  tree, 
and  there  he  had  to  lie  helpless,  for  though  the  leg  was 
little  injured,  he  could  not  extricate  himself.  A  night 
and  day  passed,  and  he  believed  that  he  must  die;  but 
even  in  this  plight  he  did  not  forget  the  man  he  loved. 
He  found  a  piece  of  slate,  and  in  the  darkness  cut  these 
words  on  it  with  his  knife: 

"  Me  being  about  to  die,  I  solemnly  swear  I  didna 
see  the  minister  marrying  an  Egyptian  on  the  hill  this 
nicht.  May  I  burn  in  Hell  if  this  is  no  true. 

(Signed)  "Roe  Dow." 

This  document  he  put  in  his  pocket,  and  so  preserved 
proof  of  what  he  was  perjuring  himself  to  deny. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

BABBIE  AND  MARGARET— DEFENCE  OF  THE  MANSE  CON- 
TINUED. 

THE  Egyptian  was  mournful  in  Windyghoul,  up  which 
she  had  once  danced  and  sung;  but  you  must  not  think 
that  she  still  feared  Dow.  I  felt  McKenzie's  clutch  on 
my  arm  for  hours  after  he  left  me,  but  she  was  far 
braver  than  I ;  indeed,  dangers  at  which  I  should  have 
shut  my  eyes  only  made  hers  gleam,  and  I  suppose  it 
was  sheer  love  of  them  that  first  made  her  play  the 
coquette  with  Gavin.  If  she  cried  now,  it  was  not  for 
herself ;  it  was  because  she  thought  she  had  destroyed 
him.  Could  I  have  gone  to  her  then  and  said  that 
Gavin  wanted  to  blot  out  the  gypsy  wedding,  that  throb- 
bing little  breast  would  have  frozen  at  once,  and  the 
drooping  head  would  have  been  proud  again,  and  she 
would  have  gone  away  forever  without  another  tear. 

What  do  I  say?  I  am  doing  a  wrong  to  the  love 
these  two  bore  each  other.  Babbie  would  not  have 
taken  so  base  a  message  from  my  lips.  He  would  have 
had  to  say  the  words  to  her  himself  before  she  believed 
them  his.  What  would  he  want  her  to  do  now?  was 
the  only  question  she  asked  herself.  To  follow  him 
was  useless,  for  in  that  rain  and  darkness  two  people 
might  have  searched  for  each  other  all  night  in  a  single 
field.  That  he  would  go  to  the  Spittal,  thinking  her  in 
Rintoul's  dogcart,  she  did  not  doubt;  and  his  distress 
was  painful  to  her  to  think  of.  But  not  knowing  that 
the  burns  were  in  flood,  she  underestimated  his  danger. 

Remembering   that    the    mudhouse   was    near,    she 


'LASSIE,    SAY   YOUU   lUtAYKKS.      AUK   YOU   SAYING  THEM?" 


JBabbfe  an&  /Margaret.  331 

groped  her  way  to  it,  meaning  to  pass  the  night  there; 
but  at  the  gate  she  turned  away  hastily,  hearing  from 
the  door  the  voice  of  a  man  she  did  not  know  to  be 
Nanny's  brother.  She  wandered  recklessly  a  short  dis- 
tance, until  the  rain  began  to  threaten  again,  and  then, 
falling  on  her  knees  in  the  broom,  she  prayed  to  God 
for  guidance.  When  she  rose  she  set  off  for  the  manse. 

The  rain  that  followed  the  flash  of  lightning  had 
brought  Margaret  to  the  kitchen. 

"Jean,  did  you  ever  hear  such  a  rain?  It  is  trying  to 
break  into  the  manse." 

"  I  canna  hear  you,  ma'am ;  is  it  the  rain  you're 
feared  at?" 

"  What  else  could  it  be?" 

Jean  did  not  answer. 

"  I  hope  the  minister  won't  leave  the  church,  Jean, 
till  this  is  over?" 

"  Nobody  would  daur,  ma'am.  The  rain'll  turn  the 
key  on  them  all." 

Jean  forced  out  these  words  with  difficulty,  for  she 
knew  that  the  church  had  been  empty  and  the  door 
locked  for  over  an  hour. 

"  This  rain  has  come  as  if  in  answer  to  the  minister's 
prayer,  Jean." 

"  It  wasna  rain  like  this  they  wanted." 

"Jean,  you  would  not  attempt  to  guide  the  Lord's 
hand.  The  minister  will  have  to  reprove  the  people 
for  thinking  too  much  of  him  again,  for  they  will  say 
that  he  induced  God  to  send  the  rain.  To-night's  meet- 
ing will  be  remembered  long  in  Thrums. " 

Jean  shuddered,  and  said,  "  It's  mair  like  an  ordinary 
rain  now,  ma'am." 

"  But  it  has  put  out  your  fire,  and  I  wanted  another 
heater.  Perhaps  the  one  I  have  is  hot  enough,  though." 

Margaret  returned  to  the  parlor,  and  from  the 
kitchen  Jean  could  hear  the  heater  tilted  backward  and 
forward  in  the  box-iron — a  pleasant,  homely  sound 


332  TTbc  Xittle  fflfnfster. 

when  there  is  happiness  in  the  house.  Soon  she  heard 
a  step  outside,  however,  and  it  was  followed  by  a  rough 
shaking  of  the  barred  door. 

"  Is  it  you,  Mr.  Dishart?"  Jean  asked  nervously. 

"It's  me,  Tammas  Whamond,"  the  precentor  an- 
swered. "  Unbar  the  door." 

"  What  do  you  want?     Speak  low." 

"  I  winna  speak  low.  Let  me  in.  I  hae  news  for  the 
minister's  mother." 

"What  news?"  demanded  Jean. 

"  Jean  Proctor,  as  chief  elder  of  the  kirk  I  order  you 
to  let  me  do  my  duty. " 

"  Whaur's  the  minister?" 

"  He's  a  minister  no  longer.  He's  married  a  gypsy 
woman  and  run  awa  wi'  her." 

"  You  lie,  Tammas  Whamond.     I  believe " 

"Your  belief's  of  no  consequence.  Open  the  door, 
and  let  me  in  to  tell  your  mistress  what  I  hae  seen." 

"  She'll  hear  it  first  frae  his  ain  lips  if  she  hears  it 
ava.  I  winna  open  the  door. " 

"Then  I'll  burst  it  open." 

Whamond  flung  himself  at  the  door,  and  Jean,  her 
fingers  rigid  with  fear,  stood  waiting  for  its  fall.  But 
the  rain  came  to  her  rescue  by  lashing  the  precentor 
until  even  he  was  forced  to  run  from  it. 

"I'll  be  back  again,"  he  cried.  "Woe  to  you,  Jean 
Proctor,  that  hae  denied  your  God  this  nicht. " 

"Who  was  that  speaking  to  you,  Jean?"  asked  Mar- 
garet, re-entering  the  kitchen.  Until  the  rain  abated 
Jean  did  not  attempt  to  answer. 

"I  thought  it  was  the  precentor's  voice,"  Margaret 
said. 

Jean  was  a  poor  hand  at  lying,  and  she  stuttered  in 
her  answer. 

"There  is  nothing  wrong,  is  there?"  cried  Margaret, 
in  sudden  fright.  "  My  son " 

"Nothing,  nothing." 


JBabbfe  and  /ftargaret.  883 

The  words  jumped  from  Jean  to  save  Margaret  from 
falling.  Now  she  could  not  take  them  back.  "  I  winna 
believe  it  o'  him,"  said  Jean  to  herself.  "  Let  them  say 
what  they  will,  I'll  be  true  to  him;  and  when  he  comes 
back  he'll  find  her  as  he  left  her." 

"It  was  Lang  Tammas,"  she  answered  her  mistress; 
"  but  he  just  came  to  say  that " 

"Quick,  Jean!  what?" 

" Mr.  Dishart  has  been  called  to  a  sick-bed  in  the 

country,  ma'am — to  the  farm  o'  Look-About-You ;  and 
as  it's  sic  a  rain,  he's  to  bide  there  a'  nicht." 

"  And  Whamond  came  through  that  rain  to  tell  me 
this?  How  good  of  him.  Was  there  any  other  mes- 
sage?" 

"  Just  that  the  minister  hoped  you  would  go  straight 
to  your  bed,  ma'am,"  said  Jean,  thinking  to  herself, 
"There  can  be  no  great  sin  in  giving  her  one  mair 
happy  nicht ;  it  may  be  her  last. " 

The  two  women  talked  for  a  short  time,  and  then 
read  verse  about  in  the  parlor  from  the  third  chapter 
of  Mark. 

"  This  is  the  first  night  we  have  been  left  alone  in  the 
manse,"  Margaret  said,  as  she  was  retiring  to  her  bed- 
room, "  and  we  must  not  grudge  the  minister  to  those 
who  have  sore  need  of  him.  I  notice  that  you  have 
barred  the  doors." 

"Ay,  they're  barred.     Nobody  can  win  in  the  nicht." 

"  Nobody  will  want  in,  Jean,"  Margaret  said,  smiling. 

"I  dinna  ken  about  that,"  answered  Jean  below  her 
breath.  "  Ay,  ma'am,  may  you  sleep  for  baith  o'  us 
this  nicht,  for  I  daurna  gang  to  my  bed." 

Jean  was  both  right  and  wrong,  for  two  persons 
wanted  in  within  the  next  half-hour,  and  she  opened 
the  door  to  both  of  them.  The  first  to  come  was  Babbie. 

So  long  as  women  sit  up  of  nights  listening  for  a 
footstep,  will  they  flatten  their  faces  at  the  window, 
though  all  without  be  black.  Jean  had  not  been  back 


384  Cbe  Xittle  Minister. 

in  the  kitchen  for  two  minutes  before  she  raised  the 
blind.  Her  eyes  were  close  to  the  glass,  when  she  saw 
another  face  almost  meet  hers,  as  you  may  touch  your 
reflection  in  a  mirror.  But  this  face  was  not  her  own. 
It  was  white  and  sad.  Jean  suppressed  a  cry,  and  let 
the  blind  fall,  as  if  shutting  the  lid  on  some  uncanny 
thing. 

"Won't  you  let  me  in?"  said  a  voice  that  might  have 
been  only  the  sob  of  a  rain-beaten  wind ;  "  I  am  nearly 
drowned. " 

Jean  stood  like  death ;  but  her  suppliant  would  not 
pass  on. 

"You  are  not  afraid?"  the  voice  continued.  "Raise 
the  blind  again,  and  you  will  see  that  no  one  need  fear 
me." 

At  this  request  Jean's  hands  sought  each  other's 
company  behind  her  back. 

"Whaareyou?"  she  asked,  without  stirring.  "Are 
you — the  woman?" 

"Yes." 

"  Whaur's  the  minister?" 

The  rain  again  became  wild,  but  this  time  it  only 
tore  by  the  manse  as  if  to  a  conflict  beyond. 

"Are  you  aye  there?  I  daurna  let  you  in  till  I'm 
sure  the  mistress  is  bedded.  Gang  round  to  the  front, 
and  see  if  there's  ony  licht  burning  in  the  high  west 
window. " 

"There  was  a  light,"  the  voice  said  presently,  "but 
it  was  turned  out  as  I  looked." 

"Then  I'll  let  you  in,  and  God  kens  I  mean  no  wrang 
by  it." 

Babbie  entered  shivering,  and  Jean  rebarred  the 
door.  Then  she  looked  long  at  the  woman  whom  her 
master  loved.  Babbie  was  on  her  knees  at  the  hearth, 
holding  out  her  hands  to  the  dead  fire. 

"What  a  pity  it's  a  fause  face." 

"Do  I  look  so  false?" 


SSabbte  and  /Margaret.  333 

"  Is  it  true?    You're  no  married  to  him?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  true. " 

"  And  yet  you  look  as  if  you  was  fond  o'  him.  If  you 
cared  for  him,  how  could  you  do  it?" 

"  That  was  why  I  did  it. " 

"And  him  could  hae  had  wha  he  liked." 

"  I  gave  up  Lord  Rintoul  for  him." 

"What?     Na,  na;  you're  the  Egyptian." 

"  You  judge  me  by  my  dress." 

"And  soaking  it  is.  How  you're  shivering — what 
neat  fingers — what  bonny  little  feet.  I  could  near  be- 
lieve what  you  tell  me.  Aff  wi'  these  rags,  an  I'll  gie 
you  on  my  black  frock,  if — if  you  promise  me  no  to 
gang  awa  wi't. " 

So  Babbie  put  on  some  clothes  of  Jean's,  including 
the  black  frock,  and  stockings  and  shoes. 

"  Mr.  Dishart  cannot  be  back,  Jean,"  she  said,  "  before 
morning,  and  I  don't  want  his  mother  to  see  me  till  he 
comes." 

"I  wouldna  let  you  near  her  the  nicht  though  you 
gaed  on  your  knees  to  me.  But  whaur  is  he?" 

Babbie  explained  why  Gavin  had  set  off  for  the  Spit- 
tal ;  but  Jean  shook  her  head  incredulously,  saying,  "  I 
canna  believe  you're  that  grand  leddy,  and  yet  ilka 
time  I  look  at  you  I  could  near  believe  it." 

In  another  minute  Jean  had  something  else  to  think 
of,  for  there  came  a  loud  rap  upon  the  front  door. 

"It's  Tammas  Whamond  back  again,"  she  moaned; 
"and  if  the  mistress  hears,  she'll  tell  me  to  let  him  in." 

"You  shall  open  to  me,"  cried  a  hoarse  voice. 

"That's  no  Tammas'  word,"  Jean  said  in  bewilder- 
ment. 

"It  is  Lord  Rintoul,"  Babbie  whispered. 

"  What?     Then  it's  truth  you  telled  me." 

The  knocking  continued ;  a  door  upstairs  opened,  and 
Margaret  spoke  over  the  banisters. 

"  Have  you  gone  to  bed,  Jean?     Some  one  is  knocking 


336  Cbe  little  Minister. 

at  the  door,  and  a  minute  ago  I  thought  I  heard  a  car- 
riage stop  close  by.  Perhaps  the  farmer  has  driven  Mr. 
Dishart  home. " 

"  I'm  putting  on  my  things,  ma'am,"  Jean  answered; 
then  whispered  to  Babbie,  "What's  to  be  done?" 

"He  won't  go  away,"  Babbie  answered.  "You  will 
have  to  let  him  into  the  parlor,  Jean.  Can  she  see 
the  door  from  up  there?" 

"  No ;  but  though  he  was  in  the  parlor?" 

"  I  shall  go  to  him  there. " 

"Make  haste,  Jean,"  Margaret  called.  "If  it  is  any 
persons  wanting  shelter,  we  must  give  it  them  on  such 
a  night." 

"  A  minute,  ma'am,"  Jean  answered.  To  Babbie  she 
whispered,  "What  shall  I  say  to  her?" 

"I — I  don't  know,"  answered  Babbie  ruefully. 
"  Think  of  something,  Jean.  But  open  the  door  now. 
Stop,  let  me  into  the  parlor  first." 

The  two  women  stole  into  the  parlor. 

"  Tell  me  what  will  be  the  result  o'  his  coming  here," 
entreated  Jean. 

"  The  result, "  Babbie  said  firmly,  "  will  be  that  he 
shall  go  away  and  leave  me  here." 

Margaret  heard  Jean  open  the  front  door  and  speak 
to  some  person  or  persons  whom  she  showed  into  the 
parlor. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

RINTOUL  AND    BABBIE— BREAKDOWN    OF  THE   DEFENCE  OF 
THE  MANSE. 

"You  dare  to  look  me  in  the  face!" 

They  were  Rintoul's  words.  Yet  Babbie  had  only 
ventured  to  look  up  because  he  was  so  long  in  speak- 
ing. His  voice  was  low  but  harsh,  like  a  wheel  on 
which  the  brake  is  pressed  sharply. 

"  It  seems  to  be  more  than  the  man  is  capable  of,"  he 
added  sourly. 

"  Do  you  think,"  Babbie  exclaimed,  taking  fire,  "  that 
he  is  afraid  of  you?" 

"So  it  seems;  but  I  will  drag  him  into  the  light, 
wherever  he  is  skulking." 

Lord  Rintoul  strode  to  the  door,  and  the  brake  was 
off  his  tongue  already. 

"Go,"  said  Babbie  coldly,  "and  shout  and  stamp 
through  the  house ;  you  may  succeed  in  frightening  the 
women,  who  are  the  only  persons  in  it." 

"Where  is  he?" 

!<  He  has  gone  to  the  Spittal  to  see  you." 

'•'  He  knew  I  was  on  the  hill." 

"  He  lost  me  in  the  darkness,  and  thought  you  had 
run  away  with  me  in  your  trap." 

"  Ha!  So  he  is  off  to  the  Spittal  to  ask  me  to  give 
you  back  to  him." 

"To  compel  you,"  corrected  Babbie. 

"Pooh!"  said  the  earl  nervously,  "that  was  but 
mummery  on  the  hill." 

"  It  was  a  marriage." 

22 


338  Cbe  TLittlz  ^Sinister. 

"With  gypsies  for  witnesses.  Their  word  would 
count  for  less  than  nothing.  Babbie,  I  am  still  in  time 
to  save  you. " 

"I  don't  want  to  be  saved.  The  marriage  had  wit- 
nesses no  court  could  discredit." 

"  What  witnesses?" 

"Mr.  McKenzie  and  yourself." 

She  heard  his  teeth  meet.  When  next  she  looked 
at  him,  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes  as  well  as  in 
her  own.  It  was  perhaps  the  first  time  these  two  had 
ever  been  in  close  sympathy.  Both  were  grieving  for 
Rintoul. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  Babbie  began  in  a  broken  voice; 
then  stopped,  because  they  seemed  such  feeble  words. 

"If  you  are  sorry,"  the  earl  answered  eagerly,  "it  is 
not  yet  too  late.  McKenzie  and  I  saw  nothing.  Come 
away  with  me,  Babbie,  if  only  in  pity  for  yourself." 

"Ah,  but  I  don't  pity  myself." 

"  Because  this  man  has  blinded  you." 

"  No,  he  has  made  me  see. " 

"  This  mummery  on  the  hill " 

"  Why  do  you  call  it  so?  I  believe  God  approved  of 
that  marriage,  as  He  could  never  have  countenanced 
yours  and  mine. " 

"  God !     I  never  heard  the  word  on  your  lips  before. " 

"I  know  that" 

"  It  is  his  teaching,  doubtless?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  he  told  you  that  to  do  to  me  as  you  have  done 
was  to  be  pleasing  in  God's  sight?" 

"  No;  he  knows  that  it  was  so  evil  in  God's  sight  that 
I  shall  suffer  for  it  always." 

"  But  he  has  done  no  wrong,  so  there  is  no  punish- 
ment for  him?" 

"  It  is  true  that  he  has  done  no  wrong,  but  his  punish- 
ment will  be  worse,  probably,  than  mine." 

"That,"  said  the  earl,  scoffing,  "is  not  just." 


•Rintoul  anD  JBabbte.  SGS 

"  It  is  just.  He  has  accepted  responsibility  for  my 
sins  by  marrying  me. " 

"And  what  form  is  his  punishment  to  take?" 

"  For  marrying  me  he  will  be  driven  from  his  church 
and  dishonored  in  all  men's  eyes,  unless — unless  God 
is  more  merciful  to  us  than  we  can  expect. " 

Her  sincerity  was  so  obvious  that  the  earl  could  no 
longer  meet  it  with  sarcasm. 

"  It  is  you  I  pity  now,"  he  said,  looking  wonderingly 
at  her.  "  Do  you  not  see  that  this  man  has  deceived 
you?  Where  was  his  boasted  purity  in  meeting  you  by 
stealth,  as  he  must  have  been  doing,  and  plotting  to 
take  you  from  me?" 

"If  you  knew  him,"  Babbie  answered,  "you  would 
not  need  to  be  told  that  he  is  incapable  of  that.  He 
thought  me  an  ordinary  gypsy  until  an  hour  ago." 

"  And  you  had  so  little  regard  for  me  that  you  waited 
until  the  eve  of  what  was  to  be  our  marriage,  and  then, 
laughing  at  my  shame,  ran  off  to  marry  him." 

"  I  am  not  so  bad  as  that,"  Babbie  answered,  and  told 
him  what  had  brought  her  to  Thrums.  "  I  had  no 
thought  but  of  returning  to  you,  nor  he  of  keeping  me 
from  you.  We  had  said  good-by  at  the  mudhouse 
door — and  then  we  heard  your  voice." 

"And  my  voice  was  so  horrible  to  you  that  it  drov 
you  to  this?" 

"  I — I  love  him  so  much. " 

What  more  could  Babbie  answer?  These  words  told 
him  that,  if  love  commands,  home,  the  friendships  of  a 
lifetime,  kindnesses  incalculable,  are  at  once  as  naught. 
Nothing  is  so  cruel  as  love  if  a  rival  challenges  it  to 
combat. 

"Why  could  you  not  love  me,  Babbie?"  said  the  earl 
sadly.  "  I  have  done  so  much  for  you." 

It  was  little  he  had  done  for  her  that  was  not  selfish. 
Men  are  deceived  curiously  in  such  matters.  When 
they  add  a  new  wing  to  their  house,  they  do  not  call  the 


{«o  Cbe  Xfttle  /tointeter. 

action  virtue ;  but  if  they  give  to  a  fellow-creature  for 
their  own  gratification,  they  demand  of  God  a  good 
mark  for  it.  Babbie,  however,  was  in  no  mood  to  make 
light  of  the  earl's  gifts,  and  at  his  question  she  shook 
her  head  sorrowfully. 

"  Is  it  because  I  am  too — old?" 

This  was  the  only  time  he  ever  spoke  of  his  age  to  her. 

"Oh  no,  it  is  not  that,"  she  replied  hastily,  "I  love 
Mr.  Dishart — because  he  loves  me,  I  think." 

"  Have  I  not  loved  you  always?" 

"Never,"  Babbie  answered  simply.  "If  you  had, 
perhaps  then  I  should  have  loved  you." 

"Babbie,"  he  exclaimed,  "if  ever  man  loved  woman, 
and  showed  it  by  the  sacrifices  he  made  for  her,  I " 

"  No,"  Babbie  said,  "you  don't  understand  what  it  is. 
Ah!  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  you." 

"If  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  what  is  it?"  he  asked, 
almost  humbly.  "  I  scarcely  know  you  now." 

"That  is  it,"  said  Babbie. 

She  gave  him  back  his  ring,  and  then  he  broke  down 
pitifully.  Doubtless  there  was  good  in  him,  but  I  saw 
him  only  once;  and  with  nothing  to  contrast  against  it,  I 
may  not  now  attempt  to  breathe  life  into  the  dust  of  his 
senile  passion.  These  were  the  last  words  that  passed 
between  him  and  Babbie: 

"  There  was  nothing,"  he  said  wistfully,  "  in  this  wide 
world  that  you  could  not  have  had  by  asking  me  for  it. 
Was  not  that  love?" 

"No,"  she  answered.  "What  right  have  I  to  every- 
thing I  cry  for?" 

"  You  should  never  have  had  a  care  had  you  married 
me.  That  is  love." 

"  It  is  not.  I  want  to  share  my  husband's  cares,  as  I 
expect  him  to  share  mine." 

"  I  would  have  humored  you  in  everything." 

"You  always  did:  as  if  a  woman's  mind  were  for 
laughing  at,  like  a  baby's  passions." 


TRhitcul  and  ttabbic.  341 

"  You  had  your  passions,  too,  Babbie.  Yet  did  I  ever 
chide  you  for  them?  That  was  love." 

"No,  it  was  contempt.  Oh,"  she  cried  passionately, 
"  what  have  not  you  men  to  answer  for  who  talk  of  love 
to  a  woman  when  her  face  is  all  you  know  of  her ;  and 
her  passions,  her  aspirations,  are  for  kissing  to  sleep, 
her  very  soul  a  plaything?  I  tell  you,  Lord  Rintoul, 
and  it  is  all  the  message  I  send  back  to  the  gentlemen 
at  the  Spittal  who  made  love  to  me  behind  your  back, 
that  this  is  a  poor  folly,  and  well  calculated  to  rouse 
the  wrath  of  God." 

Now,  Jean's  ear  had  been  to  the  parlor  keyhole  for 
a  time,  but  some  message  she  had  to  take  to  Margaret, 
and  what  she  risked  saying  was  this: 

"  It's  Lord  Rintoul  and  a  party  that  has  been  catched 
in  the  rain,  and  he  would  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  could 
gie  his  bride  shelter  for  the  nicht." 

Thus  the  distracted  servant  thought  to  keep  Mar- 
garet's mind  at  rest  until  Gavin  came  back. 

"  Lord  Rintoul !"  exclaimed  Margaret.  "  What  a  pity 
Gavin  has  missed  him.  Of  course  she  can  stay  here. 
Did  you  say  I  had  gone  to  bed?  I  should  not  know 
what  to  say  to  a  lord.  But  ask  her  to  come  up  to  me 
after  he  has  gone — and,  Jean,  is  the  parlor  looking 
tidy?" 

Lord  Rintoul  having  departed,  Jean  told  Babbie  how 
she  had  accounted  to  Margaret  for  his  visit.  "  And  she 
telled  me  to  gie  you  dry  claethes  and  her  compliments, 
and  would  you  gang  up  to  the  bedroom  and  see  her?" 

Very  slowly  Babbie  climbed  the  stairs.  I  suppose 
she  is  the  only  person  who  was  ever  afraid  of  Margaret. 
Her  first  knock  on  the  bedroom  door  was  so  soft  that 
Margaret,  who  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  did  not  hear  it. 
When  Babbie  entered  the  room,  Margaret's  first  thought 
was  that  there  could  be  no  other  so  beautiful  as  this, 
and  her  second  was  that  the  stranger  seemed  even  more 
timid  than  herself.  After  a  few  minutes'  talk  she  laid 


343  Cbe  Xittle  /KMnister. 

aside  her  primness,  a  weapon  she  had  drawn  in  self- 
defence  lest  this  fine  lady  should  not  understand  the 
grandeur  of  a  manse,  and  at  a  "  Call  me  Babbie,  won't 
you?"  she  smiled. 

"That  is  what  some  other  person  calls  you,"  said 
Margaret  archly.  "  Do  you  know  that  he  took  twenty 
minutes  to  say  good-night?  My  dear,"  she  added  hast- 
ily, misinterpreting  Babbie's  silence,  "  I  should  have 
been  sorry  had  he  taken  one  second  less.  Every  tick 
of  the  clock  was  a  gossip,  telling  me  how  he  loves 
you." 

In  the  dim  light  a  face  that  begged  for  pity  was 
turned  to  Margaret. 

"  He  does  love  you,  Babbie?"  she  asked,  suddenly 
doubtful. 

Babbie  turned  away  her  face,  then  shook  her  head. 

"  But  you  love  him?" 

Again  Babbie  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  cried  Margaret,  in  distress,  "if  this 
is  so,  are  you  not  afraid  to  marry  him?" 

She  knew  now  that  Babbie  was  crying,  but  she  did 
not  know  why  Babbie  could  not  look  her  in  the  face. 

"  There  may  be  times,"  Babbie  said,  most  woeful  that 
she  had  not  married  Rintoul,  "  when  it  is  best  to  marry 
a  man  though  we  do  not  love  him." 

"You  are  wrong,  Babbie,"  Margaret  answered 
gravely;  "if  I  know  anything  at  all,  it  is  that." 

"  It  may  be  best  for  others. " 

"  Do  you  mean  for  one  other?"  Margaret  asked,  and 
the  girl  bowed  her  head.  "  Ah,  Babbie,  you  speak  like 
a  child." 

"You  do  not  understand." 

"  I  do  not  need  to  be  told  the  circumstances  to  know 
this — that  if  two  people  love  each  other,  neither  has 
any  right  to  give  the  other  up." 

Babbie  turned  impulsively  to  cast  herself  on  the 
mercy  of  Gavin's  mother,  but  no  word  could  she  say;  a 


•Rintoul  an&  Babble.  345 

hot  tear  fell  from  her  eyes  upon  the  coverlet,  and  then 
she  looked  at  the  door,  as  if  to  run  away. 

"But  I  have  been  too  inquisitive,"  Margaret  began; 
whereupon  Babbie  cried,  "Oh  no,  no,  no:  you  are  very 
good.  I  have  no  one  who  cares  whether  I  do  right  or 
wrong. " 

"  Your  parents -" 

"  I  have  had  none  since  I  was  a  child." 

"It  is  the  more  reason  why  I  should  be  your  friend," 
Margaret  said,  taking  the  girl's  hand. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  saying.  You  cannot 
be  my  friend." 

"Yes,  dear,  I  love  you  already.  You  have  a  good 
face,  Babbie,  as  well  as  a  beautiful  one." 

Babbie  could  remain  in  the  room  no  longer.  She 
bade  Margaret  good-night  and  bent  forward  to  kiss  her; 
then  drew  back,  like  a  Judas  ashamed. 

"  Why  did  you  not  kiss  me?"  Margaret  asked  in  sur- 
prise, but  poor  Babbie  walked  out  of  the  room  without 
answering. 

Of  what  occurred  at  the  manse  on  the  following  day 
until  I  reached  it,  I  need  tell  little  more.  When  Bab- 
bie was  tending  Sam'l  Farquharson's  child  in  the  Tene- 
ments she  learned  of  the  flood  in  Glen  Quharity,  and 
that  the  greater  part  of  the  congregation  had  set  off  to 
the  assistance  of  the  farmers;  but  fearful  as  this  made 
her  for  Gavin's  safety,  she  kept  the  new  anxiety  from 
his  mother.  Deceived  by  another  story  of  Jean's,  Mar- 
garet was  the  one  happy  person  in  the  house. 

"  I  believe  you  had  only  a  lover's  quarrel  with  Lord 
Rintoul  last  night,"  she  said  to  Babbie  in  the  afternoon. 
"  Ah,  you  see  I  can  guess  what  is  taking  you  to  the 
window  so  often.  You  must  not  think  him  long  in 
coming  for  you.  I  can  assure  you  that  the  rain  which 
keeps  my  son  from  me  must  be  sufficiently  severe  to 
separate  even  true  lovers.  Take  an  old  woman's  ex- 


344  Cbe  Xfttlc  /Minister. 

ample,  Babbie.  If  I  thought  the  minister's  absence 
alarming,  I  should  be  in  anguish ;  but  as  it  is,  my  mind 
is  so  much  at  ease  that,  see,  I  can  thread  my  needle." 

It  was  in  less  than  an  hour  after  Margaret  spoke  thus 
tranquilly  to  Babbie  that  the  precentor  got  into  the 
manse. 


CHAPTER   XL!!. 

MARGARET,  THE  PRECENTOR,   AND  GOD   BETWEEN. 

UNLESS  Andrew  Luke,  who  went  to  Canada,  be  still 
above  ground,  I  am  now  the  only  survivor  of  the  few 
to  whom  Lang  Tammas  told  what  passed  in  the  manse 
parlor  after  the  door  closed  on  him  and  Margaret. 
With  the  years  the  others  lost  the  details,  but  before 
I  forget  them  the  man  who  has  been  struck  by  lightning 
will  look  at  his  arm  without  remembering  what  shriv- 
elled it.  There  even  came  a  time  when  the  scene 
seemed  more  vivid  to  me  than  to  the  precentor,  though 
that  was  only  after  he  began  to  break  up. 

"She  was  never  the  kind  o'  woman,"  Whamond  said, 
"  that  a  body  need  be  nane  feared  at.  You  can  see  she 
is  o'  the  timid  sort.  I  couldna  hae  selected  a  woman 
easier  to  speak  bold  out  to,  though  I  had  ha'en  my  pick 
o'  them." 

He  was  a  gaunt  man,  sour  and  hard,  and  he  often 
paused  in  his  story  with  a  puzzled  look  on  his  forbid- 
ding face. 

"  But,  man,  she  was  so  michty  windy  o'  him.  If  he 
had  wanted  to  put  a  knife  into  her,  I  believe  that  woman 
would  just  hae  telled  him  to  take  care  no  to  cut  his 
hands.  Ay,  and  what  innocent-like  she  was!  If  she 
had  heard  enough,  afore  I  saw  her,  to  make  her  uneasy, 
I  could  hae  begun  at  once;  but  here  she  was,  shaking 
my  hand  and  smiling  to  me,  so  that  aye  when  I  tried  to 
speak  I  gaed  through  ither.  Nobody  can  despise  rne 
for  it,  I  tell  you,  mair  than  I  despise  mysel'. 

"I  thocht  to  mysel',  'Let  her  hae  her  smile  cut,  Tarn 


3ia  tlbe  Xittle  jfi&lnteter. 

mas  Whamond;  it's  her  hinmost. '  Syne  wi' shame  at 
my  cowardliness,  I  tried  to  yoke  to  my  duty  as  chief 
elder  o'  the  kirk,  and  I  said  to  her,  as  thrawn  as  I  could 
speak,  'Dinna  thank  me;  I've  done  nothing  for  you.' 

"  'I  ken  it  wasna  for  me  you  did  it,'  she  said,  'but  for 
him;  but,  oh,  Mr.  Whamond,  will  that  make  me  think 
the  less  o'  you?  He's  my  all,'  she  says,  wi'  that  smile 
back  in  her  face,  and  a  look  mixed  up  wi't  that  said  as 
plain,  'and  I  need  no  more.'  I  thocht  o'  saying  that 
some  builds  their  house  upon  the  sand,  but — dagont, 
dominie,  it's  a  solemn  thing  the  pride  mithers  has  in 
their  laddies.  I  mind  aince  my  ain  mither — what  the 
devil  are  you  glowering  at,  Andrew  Luke?  Do  you 
think  I'm  greeting? 

'"You'll  sit  down,  Mr.  Whamond,'  she  says  next. 

'"No,  I  winna,'  I  said,  angry-like.  'I  didna  come 
here  to  sit. '  I 

"  I  could  see  she  thocht  I  was  shy  at  being  in  the 
manse  parlor;  ay,  and  I  thocht  she  was  pleased  at  me 
looking  shy.  Weel,  she  took  my  hat  out  o'  my  hand, 
and  she  put  it  on  the  chair  at  the  door,  whaur  there's 
aye  an  auld  chair  in  grand  houses  for  the  servant  to  sit 
on  at  family  exercise. 

"'You're  a  man,  Mr.  Whamond,'  says  ^he,  'that  the 
minister  delights  to  honor,  and  so  you'll  oblige  me  by 
sitting  in  his  own  armchair.' ' 

Gavin  never  quite  de1i;;htec!  to  honor  the  precentor, 
of  whom  he  was  always  a  little  afraid,  and  perhaps 
Margaret  knew  it.  But  you  must  not  think  less  of  her 
for  wanting  to  gratify  her  son's  chief  elder.  She 
thought,  too,  that  he  had  just  done  her  a  service.  I 
never  yet  knew  a  good  woman  who  did  not  enjoy  flatter- 
ing men  she  liked. 

"  I  saw  my  chance  at  that,"  Whamond  went  on,  "  and 
I  says  to  her  sternly,  'In  worldly  position,'  I  says,  'I'm 
a  common  man,  and  it's  no  for  the  like  o'  sic  to  sit  in  a 
minister's  chair;  but  it  has  been  God's  will,1  I  says,  'to 


Aargaret  and  tbe  precentor.  847 

wrap  around  me  the  mantle  o'  chief  elder  o'  the  kirk, 
and  if  the  minister  falls  awa  frae  grace,  it  becomes  my 
duty  to  take  his  place. ' 

"  If  she  had  been  looking  at  me,  she  maun  hae  grown 
feared  at  that,  and  syne  I  could  hae  gone  on  though 
my  ilka  word  was  a  knockdown  blow.  But  she  was 
picking  some  things  aff  the  chair  to  let  me  down  on't. 

'"It's  a  pair  o'  mittens  I'm  working  for  the  minis- 
ter,' she  says,  and  she  handed  them  to  me.  Ay,  I  tried 
no  to  take  them,  but —  Oh,  lads,  it's  queer  to  think 
how  saft  I  was. 

"'He's  no  to  ken  about  them  till  they're  finished, ' 
she  says,  terrible  fond-like. 

"The  words  came  to  my  mouth,  'They'll  never  be  fin- 
ished, '  and  I  could  hae  cursed  mysel"  for  no  saying 
them.  I  dinna  ken  how  it  was,  but  there  was  some- 
thing pitiful  in  seeing  her  take  up  the  mittens  and  be- 
gin working  cheerily  at  one,  and  me  kenning  all  the 
time  that  they  would  never  be  finished.  I  watched  her 
fingers,  and  I  said  to  mysel',  'Another  stitch,  and  that 
maun  be  your  last.'  I  said  that  to  mysel'  till  I  thocht 
it  was  the  needle  that  said  it,  and  I  wondered  at  her  no 
hearing. 

"In  the  tail  o'  the  day  I  says,  'You  needna  bother; 
he'll  never  wear  them,'  and  they  sounded  sic  words  o' 
doom  that  I  rose  up  off  the  chair.  Ay,  but  she  took  me 
up  wrang,  and  she  said,  '  I  see  you  have  noticed  how 
careless  o'  his  ain  comforts  he  is,  and  that  in  his  zeal 
he  forgets  to  put  on  his  mittens,  though  they  may  be  in 
his  pocket  a'  the  time.  Ay,'  says  she,  confident-like, 
'but  he  winna  forget  these  mittens,  Mr.  Whamond,  and 
I'll  tell  you  the  reason :  it's  because  they're  his  mother's 
work. ' 

"  I  stamped  my  foot,  and  she  gae  me  an  apologetic 
look,  and  she  says,  'I  canna  help  boasting  about  his 
being  so  fond  o'  me. ' 

"Ay,  but  here  was  me  saying  to  mysel',  'Do  your 


348  Cbe  little  /Binteter. 

duty,  Tammas  Whamond;  you  sluggard,  do  your  duty,' 
and  without  lifting  my  een  frae  her  fingers  I  said 
sternly,  'The  chances  are,'  I  said,  'that  these  mittens 
will  never  be  worn  by  the  hands  they  are  worked  for. ' 

"'You  mean,'  says  she,  'that  he'll  gie  them  awa  to 
some  ill-off  body,  as  he  gies  near  a'  thing  he  has?  Ay, 
but  there's  one  thing  he  never  parts  wi',  and  that's  my 
work.  There's  a  young  lady  in  the  manse  the  now, ' 
says  she,  'that  offered  to  finish  the  mittens  for  me,  but 
he  would  value  them  less  if  I  let  ony  other  body  put  a 
stitch  into  them. ' 

"I  thocht  to  mysel',  'Tammas  Whamond,  the  Lord 
has  opened  a  door  to  you,  and  you'll  be  disgraced  for- 
ever if  you  dinna  walk  straucht  in.'  So  I  rose  again, 
and  I  says,  boldly  this  time,  '  Whaur's  that  young  leddy? 
I  hae  something  to  say  to  her  that  canna  be  kept  wait- 
ing.' 

"'She's  up  the  stair,'  she  says,  surprised,  'but  you 
canna  ken  her,  Mr.  Whamond,  for  she  just  came  last 
nicht. ' 

"'I  ken  mair  o'  her  than  you  think,'  says  I;  'I  ken 
what  brocht  her  here,  and  ken  wha  she  thinks  she  is  to 
be  married  to,  and  I've  come  to  tell  her  that  she'll 
never  get  him. ' 

"'How  no?'  she  said,  amazed  like. 

"'Because,'  said  I,  wi'  my  teeth  thegither,  'he  is  al- 
ready married. ' 

"  Lads,  I  stood  waiting  to  see  her  fall,  and  when  she 
didna  fall  I  just  waited  langer,  thinking  she  was  slow 
in  taking  it  a'  in. 

" 'I  see  you  ken  wha  she  is,'  she  said,  looking  at  me, 
*and  yet  I  canna  credit  your  news. ' 

"'They're  true,'  I  cries. 

"'Even  if  they  are,'  says  she,  considering,  'it  may  be 
the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  baith  o'  them. ' 

"  I  sank  back  in  the  chair  in  fair  bewilderment,  for  I 
didna  ken  at  that  time,  as  we  a'  ken  now,  that  she  was 


Margaret  and  tbe  precentor.  349 

thinking  o'  the  earl  when  I  was  thinking  o'  her  son. 
Dominie,  it  looked  to  me  as  if  the  Lord  had  opened  a 
door  to  me,  and  syne  shut  it  in  my  face. 

"  Syne  wi'  me  sitting  there  in  a  kind  o'  awe  o'  the 
woman's  simpleness,  she  began  to  tell  me  what  the 
minister  was  like  when  he  was  a  bairn,  and  I  was  say- 
ing a'  the  time  to  mysel',  'You're  chief  elder  o*  the 
kirk,  Tammas  Whamond,  and  you  maun  speak  out  the 
next  time  she  stops  to  draw  breath. '  They  were  ter- 
rible sma',  common  things  she  telled  me,  sic  as  near  a' 
mithers  minds  about  their  bairns,  but  the  kind  o'  holy 
way  she  said  them  drove  my  words  down  my  throat, 
like  as  if  I  was  some  infidel  man  trying  to  break  out 
wi'  blasphemy  in  a  kirk. 

"'I'll  let  you  see  something,'  says  she,  'that  I  ken 
will  interest  you. '  She  brocht  it  out  o'  a  drawer,  and 
what  do  you  think  it  was?  As  sure  as  death  it  was  no 
more  than  some  o'  his  hair  when  he  was  a  litlin,  and  it 
was  tied  up  sic  carefully  in  paper  that  you  would  hae 
thocht  it  was  some  valuable  thing. 

'"Mr.  Whamond,'  she  says  solemnly,  'you've  come 
thrice  to  the  manse  to  keep  me  frae  being  uneasy  about 
my  son's  absence,  and  you  was  the  chief  instrument 
under  God  in  bringing  him  to  Thrums,  and  I'll  gie  you 
a  little  o'  that  hair. ' 

"  Dagont,  what  did  I  care  about  his  hair?  and  yet  to 
see  her  fondling  it !  I  says  to  mysel',  'Mrs.  Dishart, ' 
I  says  to  mysel',  'I  was  the  chief  instrument  under  God 
in  bringing  him  to  Thrums,  and  I've  come  here  to  tell 
you  that  I'm  to  be  the  chief  instrument  under  God  in 
driving  him  out  o't. '  Ay,  but  when  I  focht  to  bring 
out  these  words,  my  mouth  snecked  like  a  box. 

'"Dinna  gie  me  his  hair,'  was  a'  I  could  say,  and  I 
wouldna  take  it  frae  her ;  but  she  laid  it  in  my  hand, 
and — and  syne  what  could  I  do?  Ay,  it's  easy  to  speak 
about  thae  things  now,  and  to  wonder  how  I  could  hae 
so  disgraced  the  position  o'  chief  elder  o'  the  kirk,  but 


850  Cbe  fcittle  Minister. 

I  tell  you  I  was  near  greeting  for  the  woman.  Call  me 
names,  dominie;  I  deserve  them  all." 

I  did  not  call  Whamond  names  for  being  reluctant  to 
break  Margaret's  heart.  Here  is  a  confession  I  may 
make.  Sometimes  I  say  my  prayers  at  night  in  a 
hurry,  going  on  my  knees  indeed,  but  with  as  little 
reverence  as  I  take  a  drink  of  water  before  jumping  into 
bed,  and  for  the  same  reason,  because  it  is  my  nightly 
habit.  I  am  only  pattering  words  I  have  by  heart  to 
a  chair  then,  and  should  be  as  well  employed  writing  a 
comic  Bible.  At  such  times  I  pray  for  the  earthly 
well-being  of  the  precentor,  though  he  has  been  dead 
for  many  years.  He  crept  into  my  prayers  the  day  he 
told  me  this  story,  and  was  part  of  them  for  so  long 
that  when  they  are  only  a  recitation  he  is  part  of  them 
still. 

"  She  said  to  me, "  Whamond  continued,  "  that  the 
women  o'  the  congregation  would  be  fond  to  handle  the 
hair.  Could  I  tell  her  that  the  women  was  waur  agin 
him  than  the  men?  I  shivered  to  hear  her. 

"'Syne  when  they're  a' sitting  breathless  listening 
to  his  preaching,'  she  says,  'they'll  be  able  to  picture 
him  as  a  bairn,  just  as  I  often  do  in  the  kirk  mysel'.' 

"Andrew  Luke,  you're  sneering  at  me,  but  I  tell  you 
if  you  had  been  there  and  had  begun  to  say,  'He'll 
preach  in  our  kirk  no  more, '  I  would  hae  struck  you. 
And  I'm  chief  elder  o'  the  kirk. 

"She  says,  'Oh,  Mr.  Whamond,  there's  times  in  the 
kirk  when  he  is  praying,  and  the  glow  on  his  face  is 
hardly  mortal,  so  that  I  fall  a-shaking,  wi'  a  mixture 
o'  fear  and  pride,  me  being  his  mother;  and  sinful 
though  I  am  to  say  it,  I  canna  help  thinking  at  sic 
times  that  I  ken  what  the  mother  o'  Jesus  had  in  her 
heart  when  she  found  Him  in  the  temple.' 

"  Dominie,  it's  sax-and-twenty  years  since  I  was  made 
an  elder  o'  the  kirk.  I  mind  the  day  as  if  it  was  yes- 
treen. Mr.  Carfrae  made  me  walk  hame  wi'  him,  and 


toarcjaret  anD  t&e  precentor.  361 

he  took  me  into  the  manse  parlor,  and  he  set  me  in 
that  very  chair.  It  was  the  first  time  I  was  ever  in  the 
manse.  Ay,  he  little  thocht  that  day  in  his  earnestness, 
and  I  little  thocht  mysel'  in  the  pride  o'  my  lusty 
youth,  that  the  time  was  coming  when  I  would  swear 
in  that  reverenced  parlor.  I  say  swear,  dominie,  for 
when  she  had  finished  I  jumped  to  my  feet,  and  I  cried, 
'Hell!'  and  I  lifted  up  my  hat.  And  I  was  chief  elder. 

"  She  fell  back  frae  my  oath,"  he  said,  "  and  syne  she 
took  my  sleeve  and  speired,  'What  has  come  ower  you, 
Mr.  Whamond?  Hae  you  onything  on  your  mind?' 

"  'I've  sin  on  it,'  I  roared  at  her.  'I  have  neglect  o' 
duty  on  it.  I  am  one  o'  them  that  cries  "  Lord,  Lord," 
and  yet  do  not  the  things  which  He  commands.  He  has 
pointed  out  the  way  to  me,  and  I  hinna  followed  it. ' 

'"What  is  it  you  hinna  done  that  you  should  hae 
done?'  she  said.  'Oh,  Mr.  Whamond,  if  you  want  my 
help,  it's  yours. ' 

'"Your  son's  a'  the  earth  to  you, '  I  cried,  'but  my 
eldership's  as  muckle  to  me.  Sax-and-twenty  years 
hae  I  been  an  elder,  and  now  I  maun  gie  it  up. ' 

" ' Wha  says  that?'  she  speirs. 

"  'I  say  it,'  I  cried.  'I've  shirked  my  duty.  I  gie  up 
my  eldership  now.  Tammas  Whamond  is  no  langer  an 
elder  o'  the  kirk;'  ay,  and  I  was  chief  elder. 

"  Dominie,  I  think  she  began  to  say  that  when  the 
minister  came  hame  he  wouldna  accept  my  resignation, 
but  I  paid  no  heed  to  her.  You  ken  what  was  the 
sound  that  keeped  my  ears  frae  her  words;  it  was  the 
sound  o'  a  machine  coming  yont  the  Tenements.  You 
ken  what  was  the  sicht  that  made  me  glare  through  the 
window  instead  o'  looking  at  her;  it  was  the  sicht  o' 
Mr.  Dishart  in  the  machine.  I  couldna  speak,  but  I  got 
my  body  atween  her  and  the  window,  for  I  heard  shout- 
ing, and  I  couldna  doubt  that  it  was  the  folk  cursing 
him. 

"  But  she  heard  too,  she  heard  too,  and  she  squeezed 


833  ttbe  Xittlc  /HMnteter. 

by  me  to  the  window.  I  couldna  look  out;  I  jus?: 
walked  saft-like  to  the  parlor  door,  but  afore  I  reached 
it  she  cried  joyously — 

"'It's  my  son  come  back,  and  see  how  fond  o'  him 
they  are!  They  are  running  at  the  side  o'  the  machine, 
and  the  laddies  are  tossing  their  bonnets  in  the  air. ' 

"  'God  help  you,  woman!'  I  said  to  mysel',  'it  canna 
be  bonnets — it's  stanes  and  divits  mair  likely  that 
they're  flinging  at  him.'  Syne  I  creeped  out  o'  the 
manse.  Dominie,  you  mind  I  passed  you  in  the  kitch- 
en, and  didna  say  a  word?" 

Yes,  I  saw  the  precentor  pass  through  the  kitchen, 
with  such  a  face  on  him  as  no  man  ever  saw  him  wear 
again.  Since  Tammas  Whamond  died  we  have  had  to 
enlarge  the  Thrums  cemetery  twice ;  so  it  can  matter 
not  at  all  to  him,  and  but  little  to  me,  what  you  who 
read  think  of  him.  All  his  life  children  ran  from  him. 
He  was  the  dourest,  the  most  unlovable  man  in  Thrums. 
But  may  my  right  hand  wither,  and  may  my  tongue  be 
cancer-bitten,  and  may  my  mind  be  gone  into  a  dry  rot, 
before  I  forget  what  he  did  for  me  and  mine  that  day  I 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

RAIN— MIST— THE  JAWS. 

To  this  day  we  argue  in  the  glen  about  the  sound 
mistaken  by  many  of  us  for  the  firing  of  the  Spittal 
cannon,  some  calling  it  thunder  and  others  the  tearing 
of  trees  in  the  torrent.  I  think  it  must  have  been  the 
roll  of  stones  into  the  Quharity  from  Silver  .Hill,  of 
which  a  corner  has  been  missing  since  that  day.  Silver 
Hill  is  all  stones,  as  if  creation  had  been  riddled  there, 
and  in  the  sun  the  mica  on  them  shines  like  many  pools 
of  water. 

At  the  roar,  as  they  thought,  of  the  cannon,  the  farm- 
ers looked  up  from  their  struggle  with  the  flood  to  say, 
"That's  Rintoul  married,"  as  clocks  pause  simultane- 
ously to  strike  the  hour.  Then  every  one  in  the  glen 
save  Gavin  and  myself  was  done  with  Rintoul.  Before 
the  hills  had  answered  the  noise,  Gavin  was  on  his  way 
to  the  Spittal.  The  dog  must  have  been  ten  minutes  in 
overtaking  him,  yet  he  maintained  afterward  that  it 
was  with  him  from  the  start.  From  this  we  see  that 
the  shock  he  had  got  carried  him  some  distance  before 
he  knew  that  he  had  left  the  school-house.  It  also 
gave  him  a  new  strength,  that  happily  lasted  longer 
than  his  daze  of  mind. 

Gavin  moved  northward  quicker  than  I  came  south, 
climbing  over  or  wading  through  his  obstacles,  while  I 
went  round  mine.  After  a  time,  too,  the  dog  proved 
useful,  for  on  discovering  that  it  was  going  homeward 
it  took  the  lead,  and  several  times  drew  him  to  the 
right  road  to  the  Spittal  by  refusing  to  accompany  him 


354  Sbe  kittle  /Minister. 

on  the  wrong  road.  Yet  in  two  hours  he  had  walked 
perhaps  nine  miles  without  being  four  miles  nearer  the 
Spittal.  In  that  flood  the  glen  milestones  were  three 
miles  apart. 

For  some  time  he  had  been  following  the  dog  doubt- 
fully, for  it  seemed  to  be  going  too  near  the  river. 
When  they  struck  a  cart-track,  however,  he  concluded 
rightly  that  they  were  nearing  a  bridge.  His  faith  in 
his  guide  was  again  tested  before  they  had  been  many 
minutes  on  this  sloppy  road.  The  dog  stopped,  whined, 
looked  irresolute,  and  then  ran  to  the  right,  disappear- 
ing into  the  mist  in  an  instant.  He  shouted  to  it  to 
come  back,  and  was  surprised  to  hear  a  whistle  in  reply. 
This  was  sufficient  to  make  him  dash  after  the  dog,  and 
in  less  than  a  minute  he  stopped  abruptly  by  the  side  of 
a  shepherd. 

"  Have  you  brocht  it?"  the  man  cried  almost  into 
Gavin's  ear;  yet  the  roar  of  the  water  was  so  tremen- 
dous that  the  words  came  faintly,  as  if  from  a  distance. 
"  Wae  is  me;  is  it  only  you,  Mr.  Dishart?" 

"  Is  it  only  you !"  No  one  in  the  glen  would  have 
addressed  a  minister  thus  except  in  a  matter  of  life  or 
death,  and  Gavin  knew  it. 

"He'll  be  ower  late,"  the  shepherd  exclaimed,  rub- 
bing his  hands  together  in  distress.  "I'm  speaking  o' 
Whinbusses'  grieve.  He  has  run  for  ropes,  but  he'll 
be  ower  late. " 

"  Is  there  some  one  in  danger?"  asked  Gavin,  who 
stood,  he  knew  not  where,  with  this  man,  enveloped  in 
mist. 

"  Is  there  no?     Look !" 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  seen  but  mist ;  where  are  we?" 

"We're  on  the  high  bank  o'  the  Quharity.  Take 
care,  man;  you  was  stepping  ower  into  the  roaring 
water.  Lie  down  and  tell  me  if  he's  there  yet.  Maybe 
I  just  think  that  I  see  him,  for  the  sicht  is  painted  on 
my  een. " 


•Rain— /RMst— Cbc  Jaws.  355 

Gavin  lay  prone  and  peered  at  the  river,  but  the  mist 
came  up  to  his  eyes.  He  only  knew  that  the  river  was 
below  from  the  sound. 

"  Is  there  a  man  down  there?"  he  asked,  shuddering. 

"  There  was  a  minute  syne ;  on  a  bit  island. " 

"Why  does  he  not  speak?" 

"  He  is  senseless.  Dinna  move;  the  mist's  clearing-, 
and  you'll  see  if  he's  there  syne.  The  mist  has  been 
lifting  and  falling  that  way  ilka  minute  since  me  and 
the  grieve  saw  him." 

The  mist  did  not  rise.  It  only  shook  like  a  blanket, 
and  then  again  remained  stationary.  But  in  that 
movement  Gavin  had  seen  twice,  first  incredulously, 
and  then  with  conviction. 

"Shepherd,"  he  said,  rising,  "it  is  Lord  Rintoul." 

"Ay,  it's  him ;  and  you  saw  his  feet  was  in  the  water. 
They  were  dry  when  the  grieve  left  me.  Mr.  Dishart., 
the  ground  he  is  on  is  being  washed  awa  bit  by  bit. 
I  tell  you,  the  flood's  greedy  for  him,  and  it'll  hae 
him Look,  did  you  see  him  again?" 

"  Is  he  living?" 

"We  saw  him  move.     Hst!     Was  that  a  cry?" 

It  was  only  the  howling  of  the  dog,  which  had 
recognized  its  master  and  was  peering  over  the  bank, 
the  body  quivering  to  jump,  but  the  legs  restless  with 
indecision. 

"  If  we  were  down  there,"  Gavin  said,  "  we  coiild  hold 
him  secure  till  rescue  comes.  It  is  no  great  jump." 

"  How  far  would  you  make  it?     I  saw  him  again!" 

"  It  looked  further  that  time. " 

"That's  it!  Sometimes  the  ground  he  is  on  looks  so 
near  that  you  think  you  could  almost  drop  on  it,  and 
the  next  time  it's  yards  and  yards  awa.  I've  stood 
ready  for  the  spring,  Mr.  Dishart,  a  dozen  times,  but 
I  aye  sickened.  I  daurna  do  it.  Look  at  the  dog ;  just 
when  it's  starting  to  jump,  it  pulls  itsel'  back." 


356  Cbe  fcfttle  dfctntster. 

As  if  it  had  heard  the  shepherd,  the  dog  jumped  at 
that  instant. 

"  It  sprang  too  far,"  Gavin  said. 

"  It  didna  spring  far  enough." 

They  waited,  and  presently  the  mist  thinned  for  a 
moment,  as  if  it  was  being  drawn  out.  They  saw  the 
earl,  but  there  was  no  dog. 

"Poor  brute,"  said  the  shepherd,  and  looked  with 
awe  at  Gavin. 

"  Rintoul  is  slipping  into  the  water, "  Gavin  answered. 
"You  won't  jump?" 

"  No,  I'm  wae  for  him,  and " 

"Then  I  will,"  Gavin  was  about  to  say,  but  the 
shepherd  continued,  "  And  him  only  married  twa  hours 
syne." 

That  kept  the  words  in  Gavin's  mouth  for  half  a 
minute,  and  then  he  spoke  them. 

"  Dinna  think  o't,"  cried  the  shepherd,  taking  him 
by  the  coat.  "The  ground  he  is  on  is  slippery.  I've 
flung  a  dozen  stanes  at  it,  and  them  that  hit  it  slithered 
off.  Though  you  landed  in  the  middle  o't,  you  would 
slide  into  the  water." 

"He  shook  himsel'  free  o'  me,"  the  shepherd  told 
afterward,  "  and  I  saw  him  bending  down  and  measur- 
ing the  distance  wi*  his  een  as  cool  as  if  he  was  calculat- 
ing a  drill  o'  tatties.  Syne  I  saw  his  lips  moving  in 
prayer.  It  wasna  spunk  he  needed  to  pray  for,  though. 
Next  minute  there  was  me,  my  very  arms  prigging  wi' 
him  to  think  better  o't,  and  him  standing  ready  to  loup, 
his  knees  bent,  and  not  a  tremble  in  them.  The  mist 

lifted,  and  I Lads,  I  couldna  gie  a  look  to  the  earl. 

Mr.  Dishart  jumped;  I  hardly  saw  him,  but  I  kcnt, 
I  kent,  for  I  was  on  the  bank  alane.  What  did  I  do?  I 
flung  mysel'  down  in  a  sweat,  and  if  een  could  bore 
mist  mine  would  hae  done  it.  I  thocht  I  heard  the 
minister's  death-cry,  and  may  I  be  struck  if  I  dinna  be- 
lieve now  that  it  was  a  skirl  o'  my  ain.  After  that 


IRain— /BM6t— Gbe  Jaws.  357 

there  was  no  sound  but  the  jaw  o'  the  water;  and  I 
prayed,  but  no  to  God,  to  the  mist  to  rise,  and  after  an 
awful  time  it  rose,  and  I  saw  the  minister  was  safe;  he 
had  pulled  the  earl  into  the  middle  o'  the  bit  island  and 
was  rubbing  him  back  to  consciousness.  I  sweat  when 
I  think  o't  yet." 

The  Little  Minister's  jump  is  always  spoken  of  as  a 
brave  act  in  the  glen,  but  at  such  times  I  am  silent. 
This  is  not  because,  being  timid  myself,  I  am  without 
admiration  for  courage.  My  little  maid  says  that  three 
in  every  four  of  my  poems  are  to  the  praise  of  prow- 
ess, and  she  has  not  forgotten  how  I  carried  her  on  my 
shoulder  once  to  Tilliedrum  to  see  a  soldier  who  had 
won  the  Victoria  Cross,  and  made  her  shake  hands  with 
him,  though  he  was  very  drunk.  Only  last  year  one  of 
my  scholars  declared  to  me  that  Nelson  never  said 
"  England  expects  every  man  this  day  to  do  his  duty," 
for  which  I  thrashed  the  boy  and  sent  him  to  the  cooling- 
stone.  But  was  it  brave  of  Gavin  to  jump?  I  have 
heard  some  maintain  that  only  misery  made  him  so  bold, 
and  others  that  he  jumped  because  it  seemed  a  fine 
thing  to  risk  his  life  for  an  enemy.  But  these  are 
really  charges  of  cowardice,  and  my  boy  was  never  a 
coward.  Of  the  two  kinds  of  courage,  however,  he  did 
not  then  show  the  nobler.  I  am  glad  that  he  was  ready 
for  such  an  act,  but  he  should  have  remembered  Mar- 
garet and  Babbie.  As  it  was,  he  may  be  said  to  have 
forced  them  to  jump  with  him.  Not  to  attempt  a  gal- 
lant deed  for  which  one  has  the  impulse,  may  be  braver 
than  the  doing  of  it. 

"  Though  it  seemed  as  lang  time,"  the  shepherd  says, 
"  as  I  could  hae  run  up  a  hill  in,  I  dinna  suppose  it  was 
many  minutes  afore  I  saw  Rintoul  opening  and  shutting 
his  een.  The  next  glint  I  had  o'  them  they  were 
speaking  to  ane  another;  ay,  and  mair  than  speaking. 
They  were  quarrelling.  I  couldna  hear  their  words, 
but  there  was  a  moment  when  I  thocht  they  were  to 


358  Obe  Xfttle  /BMnfster. 

grapple.  Lads,  the  memory  o'  that'll  hing  about  my 
deathbed.  There  was  twa  men,  edicated  to  the  high- 
est pitch,  ane  a  lord  and  the  other  a  minister,  and  the 
flood  was  taking  awa  a  mouthful  o'  their  footing  ilka 
minute,  and  the  jaws  o'  destruction  was  gaping  for  them, 
and  yet  they  were  near  fechting.  We  ken  now  it  was 
about  a  woman.  Ay,  buC.  does  that  make  it  less  awful?" 

No,  that  did  not  make  it  less  awful.  It  was  even 
awful  that  Gavin's  first  words  when  Rintoul  opened 
his  eyes  and  closed  them  hastily  were,  "Where  is  she?" 
The  earl  did  not  answer;  indeed,  for  the  moment  the 
words  had  no  meaning  to  him. 

"  How  did  I  come  here?"  he  asked  feebly. 

"  You  should  know  better  than  I.     Where  is  my  wife?" 

"I  remember  now,"  Rintoul  repeated  several  times. 
"  Yes,  I  had  left  the  Spittal  to  look  for  you — you  were 
so  long  in  coming.  How  did  I  find  you?" 

"It  was  I  who  found  you,"  Gavin  answered.  "You 
must  have  been  swept  away  by  the  flood. " 

"  And  you  too?" 

In  a  few  words  Gavin  told  how  he  came  to  be  beside 
the  earl. 

"I  suppose  they  will  say  you  have  saved  my  life," 
was  Rintoul's  commentary. 

"  It  is  not  saved  yet.  If  help  does  not  come,  we  shall 
be  dead  men  in  an  hour.  What  have  you  done  with 
my  wife?" 

Rintoul  ceased  to  listen  to  him,  and  shouted  sums  of 
money  to  the  shepherd,  who  shook  his  head  and  bawled 
an  answer  that  neither  Gavin  nor  the  earl  heard.  Across 
that  thundering  water  only  Gavin's  voice  could  carry, 
the  most  powerful  ever  heard  in  a  Thrums  pulpit,  the 
one  voice  that  could  be  heard  all  over  the  Common ty 
during  the  time  of  the  tent-preaching.  Yet  he  never 
roared,  as  some  preachers  do  of  whom  we  say,  "  Ah,  if 
they  could  hear  the  Little  Minister's  word!" 

Gavin  caught  the  gesticulating  earl  by  the  sleeve 


Itafn— flMst— Zbe  3aw0.  359 

and  said,  "Another  man  has  gone  for  ropes.  Now, 
listen  to  me ;  how  dared  you  go  through  a  marriage  cere- 
mony with  her,  knowing  her  already  to  be  my  wife?" 

Rintoul  did  listen  this  time. 

"  How  do  you  know  I  married  her?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"  I  heard  the  cannon." 

Now  the  earl  understood,  and  the  shadow  on  his  face 
shook  and  lifted,  and  his  teeth  gleamed.  His  triumph 
might  be  short-lived,  but  he  would  enjoy  it  while  he 
could. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  picking  the  pebbles  for  his 
sling  with  care,  "  you  must  know  that  I  could  not  have 
married  her  against  her  will.  The  frolic  on  the  hill 
amused  her,  but  she  feared  you  might  think  it  serious, 
and  so  pressed  me  to  proceed  with  her  marriage  to-day 
despite  the  flood." 

This  was  the  point  at  which  the  shepherd  saw  the 
minister  raise  his  fist.  It  fell,  however,  without  strik- 
ing. 

"  Do  you  really  think  that  I  could  doubt  her?"  Gavin 
said  compassionately,  and  for  the  second  time  in  twenty- 
four  hours  the  earl  learned  that  he  did  not  know  what 
love  is. 

For  a  full  minute  they  had  forgotten  where  they  were. 
Now,  again,  the  water  seemed  to  break  loose,  so  that 
both  remembered  their  danger  simultaneously  and 
looked  up.  The  mist  parted  for  long  enough  to  show 
them  that  where  had  only  been  the  shepherd  was  now 
a  crowd  of  men,  with  here  and  there  a  woman.  Before 
the  mist  again  came  between  the  minister  had  recog- 
nized many  members  of  his  congregation. 

In  his  unsuccessful  attempt  to  reach  Whinbusses.  the 
grieve  had  met  the  relief  party  from  Thrums.  Already 
the  weavers  had  helped  Waster  Lunny  to  stave  off  ruin, 
and  they  were  now  on  their  way  to  Whinbusses,  keep- 
ing together  through  fear  of  mist  and  water.  Every 


860  Gbe  little  flSfnfster. 

few  minutes  Snecky  Hobart  rang  his  bell  to  bring  in 
stragglers. 

"  Follow  me,"  was  all  the  panting  grieve  could  say  at 
first,  but  his  agitation  told  half  his  story.  They  went 
with  him  patiently,  only  stopping  once,  and  then  ex- 
citedly, for  they  come  suddenly  on  Rob  Dow.  Rob  was 
*till  lying  a  prisoner  beneath  the  tree,  and  the  grieve 
aow  remembered  that  he  had  fallen  over  this  tree,  and 
neither  noticed  the  man  under  it  nor  been  noticed  by 
the  man.  Fifty  hands  released  poor  Dow,  and  two  men 
were  commissioned  to  bring  him  along  slowly  while  the 
others  hurried  to  the  rescue  of  the  earl.  They  were 
amazed  to  learn  from  the  shepherd  that  Mr.  Dishart 
also  was  in  danger,  and  after  "  Is  there  a  woman  wi' 
him?"  some  cried,  "  He'll  get  off  cheap  wi'  drowning," 
and  "  It's  the  judgment  o'  God." 

The  island  on  which  the  two  men  stood  was  now  little 
bigger  than  the  round  tables  common  in  Thrums,  and 
its  centre  was  some  feet  farther  from  the  bank  than 
when  Gavin  jumped.  A  woman,  looking  down  at  it, 
sickened,  and  would  have  toppled  into  the  water,  had 
not  John  Spens  clutched  her.  Others  were  so  stricken 
with  awe  that  they  forgot  they  had  hands. 

Peter  Tosh,  the  elder,  cast  a  rope  many  times,  but 
it  would  not  carry.  The  one  end  was  then  weighted 
with  a  heavy  stone,  and  the  other  tied  round  the  waists 
of  two  men.  But  the  force  of  the  river  had  been  under- 
estimated. The  stone  fell  short  into  the  torrent,  which 
rushed  off  with  it  so  furiously  that  the  men  were  flung 
upon  their  faces  and  trailed  to  the  verge  of  the  preci- 
pice. A  score  of  persons  sprang  to  their  rescue,  and 
the  rope  snapped.  There  was  only  one  other  rope,  and 
its  fate  was  not  dissimilar.  This  time  the  stone  fell 
into  the  water  beyond  the  island,  and  immediately 
rushed  down  stream.  Gavin  seized  the  rope,  but  it 
pressed  against  his  body,  and  would  have  pushed  him 
off  his  feet  had  not  Tosh  cut  it.  The  trunk  of  the  tree 


TRain— /fciet-  -ttbe  Saws,  361 

chat  had  fallen  on  Rob  Dow  was  next  dragged  to  the 
bank  and  an  endeavor  made  to  form  a  sloping  bridge 
of  it.  The  island,  however,  was  now  soft  and  unstable, 
and,  though  the  trunk  was  successfully  lowered,  it  only 
knocked  lumps  off  the  island,  and  finally  it  had  to  be 
let  go,  as  the  weavers  could  not  pull  it  back.  It 
splashed  into  the  water,  and  was  at  once  whirled  out 
of  sight.  Some  of  the  party  on  the  bank  began  hastily 
to  improvise  a  rope  of  cravats  and  the  tags  of  the  ropes 
still  left,  but  the  mass  stood  helpless  and  hopeless. 

"You  may  wonder  that  we  could  have  stood  still, 
waiting  to  see  the  last  o'  them,"  Birse,  the  post,  has  said 
to  me  in  the  school-house,  "but,  dominie,  I  couldnahae 
moved,  magre  my  neck.  I'm  a  hale  man,  but  if  this 
minute  we  was  to  hear  the  voice  o'  the  Almighty  saying 
solemnly,  'Afore  the  clock  strikes  again,  Birse,  the 
post,  will  fall  down  dead  of  heart  disease, '  what  do  you 
think  you  would  do?  I'll  tell  you.  You  would  stand 
whaur  you  are,  and  stare,  tongue-tied,  at  me  till  I 
dropped.  How  do  I  ken?  By  the  teaching  o'  that 
nicht.  Ay,  but  there's  a  mair  important  thing  I  dinna 
ken,  and  that  is  whether  I  would  be  palsied  wi*  fear  like 
the  earl,  or  face  death  with  the  calmness  o'  the  min- 
ister." 

Indeed,  the  contrast  between  Rintoul  and  Gavin  was 
now  impressive.  When  Tosh  signed  that  the  weavers 
had  done  their  all  and  failed,  the  two  men  looked  in 
each  other's  faces,  and  Gavin's  face  was  firm  and  the 
earl's  working  convulsively.  The  people  had  given  up 
attempting  to  communicate  with  Gavin  save  by  signs, 
for  though  they  heard  his  sonorous  voice,  when  he 
pitched  it  at  them,  they  saw  that  he  caught  few  words 
of  theirs.  "He  heard  our  skirls,"  Birse  said,  "but 
couldna  grip  the  words  ony  mair  than  we  could  hear 
the  earl.  And  yet  we  screamed,  and  the  minister 
didna.  I've  heard  o'  Highlanclmen  wi'  the  same  gift, 
so  that  they  co»*!d  be  heard  across  a  glen." 


362  Cbe  TLittlc  /BMnteter. 

"We  must  prepare  for  death,"  Gavin  said  solemnly 
to  the  earl,  "  and  it  is  for  your  own  sake  that  I  again  ask 
you  to  tell  me  the  truth.  Worldly  matters  are  nothing 
to  either  of  us  now,  but  I  implore  you  not  to  carry  a  lie 
into  your  Maker's  presence." 

"  I  will  not  give  up  hope,"  was  all  Rintoul's  answer, 
and  he  again  tried  to  pierce  the  mist  with  offers  of  re- 
ward. After  that  he  became  doggedly  silent,  fixing  his 
eyes  on  the  ground  at  his  feet.  I  have  a  notion  that  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  confess  the  truth  about  Babbie 
when  the  water  had  eaten  the  island  as  far  as  the  point 
at  which  he  was  now  looking. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

END  OF  THE  TWENTY-FOUR   HOURS. 

OUT  of  the  mist  came  the  voice  of  Gavin,  clear  and 
strong — 

"  If  you  hear  me,  hold  up  your  hands  as  a  sign." 

They  heard,  and  none  wondered  at  his  voice  crossing 
the  chasm  while  theirs  could  not.  When  the  mist 
cleared,  they  were  seen  to  have  done  as  he  bade  them. 
Many  hands  remained  up  for  a  time  because  the  people 
did  not  remember  to  bring  them  down,  so  great  was  the 
awe  that  had  fallen  on  all,  as  if  the  Lord  was  near. 

Gavin  took  his  watch  from  his  pocket,  and  he  said — 

"  I  am  to  fling  this  to  you.  You  will  give  it  to  Mr. 
Ogilvy,  the  schoolmaster,  as  a  token  of  the  love  I  bear 
him." 

The  watch  was  caught  by  James  Langlands,  and 
handed  to  Peter  Tosh,  the  chief  elder  present. 

"To  Mr.  Ogilvy,"  Gavin  continued,  "you  will  also 
give  the  chain.  You  will  take  it  off  my  neck  when  you 
find  the  body. 

"  To  each  of  my  elders,  and  to  Hendry  Munn,  kirk 
officer,  and  to  my  servant  Jean,  I  leave  a  book,  and 
they  will  go  to  my  study  and  choose  it  for  themselves. 

"  I  also  leave  a  book  for  Nanny  Webster,  and  I  charge 
you,  Peter  Tosh,  to  take  it  to  her,  though  she  be  not  a 
member  of  my  church. 

"The  pictorial  Bible  with  'To  my  son  on  his  sixth 
birthday'  on  it,  I  bequeath  to  Rob  Dow.  No,  my 
mother  will  want  to  keep  that.  I  give  to  Rob  Dow  my 
Bible  with  the  brass  clasp. 


364  Cbe  ILittic  d&fnfster. 

"  It  is  my  wish  that  every  family  in  the  congregation 
should  have  some  little  thing  to  remember  me  by. 
This  you  will  tell  my  mother. 

"To  my  successor  I  leave  whatsoever  of  my  papers 
he  may  think  of  any  value  to  him,  including  all  my 
notes  on  Revelation,  of  which  I  meant  to  make  a  book. 
I  hope  he  will  never  sing  the  paraphrases. 

"If  Mr.  Carfrae's  health  permits,  you  will  ask  him  to 
preach  the  funeral  sermon ;  but  if  he  be  too  frail,  then 
you  will  ask  Mr.  Trail,  under  whom  I  sat  in  Glasgow. 
The  illustrated  'Pilgrim's  Progress'  on  the  drawers  in 
my  bedroom  belongs  to  Mr.  Trail,  and  you  will  return 
it  to  him  with  my  affection  and  compliments. 

"  I  owe  five  shillings  to  Hendry  Munn  for  mending 
my  boots,  and  a  smaller  sum  to  Baxter,  the  mason.  I 
have  two  pounds  belonging  to  Rob  Dow,  who  asked  me 
to  take  charge  of  them  for  him.  I  owe  no  other  man 
anything,  and  this  you  will  bear  in  mind  if  Matthew 
Cargill,  the  flying  stationer,  again  brings  forward  a 
claim  for  the  price  of  Whiston's  'Josephus, '  which  I  did 
not  buy  from  him. 

"  Mr.  Moncur,  of  Aberbrothick,  had  agreed  to  assist 
me  at  the  Sacrament,  and  will  doubtless  still  lend  his 
services.  Mr.  Carfrae  or  Mr.  Trail  will  take  my  place 
if  my  successor  is  not  elected  by  that  time.  The  Sacra- 
ment cups  are  in  the  vestry  press,  of  which  you  will 
find  the  key  beneath  the  clock  in  my  parlor.  The 
tokens  are  in  the  topmost  drawer  in  my  bedroom. 

"The  weekly  prayer-meeting  will  be  held  as  usual 
on  Thursday  at  eight  o'clock,  and  the  elders  will  offi- 
ciate. 

"  It  is  my  wish  that  the  news  of  my  death  be  broken 
to  my  mother  by  Mr.  Ogilvy,  the  schoolmaster,  and  by 
no  other.  You  will  say  to  him  that  this  is  my  solemn 
request,  and  that  I  bid  him  discharge  it  without  falter- 
ing and  be  of  good  cheer. 

"  But  if  Mr.  Ogilvy  be  not  now  alive,  the  news  of  my 


of  tbc  awentg=iour  f>our0. 


death  will  be  broken  to  my  mother  by  my  beloved  wife. 
Last  night  I  was  married  on  the  hill,  over  the  tongs, 
but  with  the  sanction  of  God,  to  her  whom  you  call  the 
Egyptian,  and  despite  what  has  happened  since  then,  of 
which  you  will  soon  have  knowledge,  I  here  solemnly 
declare  that  she  is  my  wife,  and  you  will  seek  for  her 
at  the  Spittal  or  elsewhere  till  you  find  her,  and  you 
will  tell  her  to  go  to  my  mother  and  remain  with  her 
always,  for  these  are  the  commands  of  her  husband." 

It  was  then  that  Gavin  paused,  for  Lord  Rintoul  had 
that  to  say  to  him  which  no  longer  could  be  kept  back. 
All  the  women  were  crying  sore,  and  also  some  men 
whose  eyes  had  been  dry  at  the  coffining  of  their  chil- 
dren. 

"Now  I  ken,"  said  Cruickshanks,  who  had  been  an 
atheist,  "  that  it's  only  the  fool  wha'  says  in  his  heart, 
'There  is  no  God.'  " 

Another  said,  "  That's  a  man." 

Another  said,  "  That  man  has  a  religion  to  last  him 
all  through." 

A  fourth  said,  "  Behold,  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is 
at  hand." 

A  fifth  said,  "  That's  our  minister.  He's  the  minister 
o'  the  Auld  Licht  Kirk  o'  Thrums.  Woe  is  me,  we're 
to  lose  him." 

Many  cried,  "  Our  hearts  was  set  hard  against  him. 
O  Lord,  are  you  angry  wi*  your  servants  that  you're 
taking  him  frae  us  just  when  we  ken  what  he  is?" 

Gavin  did  not  hear  them,  and  again  he  spoke-. 

41  My  brethren,  God  is  good.  I  have  just  learned  that 
my  wife  is  with  my  dear  mother  at  the  manse.  I  leave 
them  in  your  care  and  in  His." 

No  more  he  said  of  Babbie,  for  the  island  was  be- 
come very  small. 

"  The  Lord  calls  me  hence.  It  is  only  for  a  little 
time  I  have  been  with  you,  and  now  I  am  going  away, 
and  you  will  know  me  no  more.  Too  great  has  been 


368  Gbe  Xittle  /Btnister. 

my  pride  because  I  was  your  minister,  but  He  who  sent 
me  to  labor  among  you  is  slow  to  wrath ;  and  He  ever 
bore  in  mind  that  you  were  my  first  charge.  My  peo- 
ple, I  must  say  to  you,  'Farewell.'  " 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  his  voice  faltered,  and  want- 
ing to  go  on  he  could  not.  "Let  us  read,"  he  said, 
quickly,  "in  the  Word  of  God  in  the  fourteenth  of 
Matthew,  from  the  twenty-eighth  verse." 

He  repeated  these  four  verses: — 

"  'And  Peter  answered  Him  and  said,  Lord,  if  it  be 
Thou,  bid  me  come  unto  Thee  on  the  water. 

'"And  He  said,  Come.  And  when  Peter  was  come 
down  out  of  the  ship,  he  walked  on  the  water,  to  go  to 
Jesus. 

"'But  when  he  saw  the  wind  boisterous,  he  was 
afraid ;  and  beginning  to  sink,  he  cried,  saying,  Lord, 
save  me. 

"'And  immediately  Jesus  stretched  forth  His  hand 
and  caught  him,  and  said  unto  him,  O  thou  of  little 
faith,  wherefore  didst  thou  doubt?'  " 

After  this  Gavin's  voice  was  again  steady,  and  he 
said,  "The  sand-glass  is  almost  run  out.  Dearly  be- 
loved, with  what  words  shall  I  bid  you  good-by?" 

Many  thought  that  these  were  to  be  the  words,  for 
the  mist  parted,  and  they  saw  the  island  tremble  and 
half  of  it  sink. 

"My  people,"  said  the  voice  behind  the  mist,  "this 
is  the  text  I  leave  with  you:  'Lay  not  up  for  yourselves 
treasures  upon  earth,  where  moth  and  rust  doth  corrupt, 
and  where  thieves  break  through  and  steal ;  but  lay  up 
for  yourselves  treasures  in  heaven,  where  neither  moth 
nor  rust  doth  corrupt,  and  where  thieves  do  not  break 
through  nor  steal. '  That  text  I  read  in  the  flood,  where 
the  hand  of  God  has  written  it.  All  the  pound-notes  in 
the  world  would  not  dam  this  torrent  for  a  moment,  so 
that  we  might  pass  over  to  you  safely.  Yet  it  is  but  a 
trickle  of  water,  soon  to  be  dried  up.  Verily,  I  say 


ot  tbe  CwentB*fout  t)ours.  387 

unto  you,  only  a  few  hours  ago  the  treasures  of  earth 
stood  between  you  and  this  earl,  and  what  are  they  now 
compared  to  this  trickle  of  water?  God  only  can  turn 
rivers  into  a  wilderness,  and  the  water-springs  into  dry 
ground.  Let  His  Word  be  a  lamp  unto  your  feet  and  a 
light  unto  your  path ;  may  He  be  your  refuge  and  your 
strength.  Amen. " 

This  amen  he  said  quickly,  thinking  death  was  now 
come.  He  was  seen  to  raise  his  hands,  but  whether  to 
Heaven  or  involuntarily  to  protect  bis  face  as  he  fell 
none  was  sure,  for  the  mist  again  filled  the  chasm. 
Then  came  a  clap  of  stillness.  No  one  breathed. 

But  the  two  men  were  not  yet  gone,  and  Gavin  spoke 
once  more. 

"  Let  us  sing  in  the  twenty-third  Psalm.*' 

He  himself  raised  the  tune,  and  so  long  a>  they  heard 
his  voice  they  sang — 

"The  Lord's  my  shepherd,  I'll  not  want* 

He  makes  me  down  to  lie 
In  pastures  green  ;  He  leadeth  me 
The  quiet  waters  by. 

"  My  soul  He  doth  restore  again ; 

And  me  to  walk  doth  make 
Within  the  paths  of  righteousness 
Ev'n  for  His  own  name's  sake. 

"Yea,  though  I  walk  in  Death's  dark  vale, 

Yet  will  I  fear  none  ill ; 
For  Thou  art  with  me  ;  and  Thy  rod 
And  staff " 

But  some  had  lost  the  power  to  sing  in  the  first  verse, 
and  others  at  "  Death's  dark  vale,"  and  when  one  man 
found  himself  singing  alone  he  stopped  abruptly.  This 
was  because  they  no  longer  heard  the  minister. 

"O  Lord!"  Peter  Tosh  cried,  "lift  the  mist,  for  it's 
mair  than  we  can  bear." 

The  mist  rose  slowly,  and  those  who  had  courage  to 


368  ttbe  Xittlc  /BMntster. 

look  saw  Gavin  praying  with  the  earl.     Many  could  not 
look,  and  some  of  them  did  not  even  see  Rob  Dow  jump. 

For  it  was  Dow,  the  man  with  the  crushed  leg,  who 
saved  Gavin's  life,  and  flung  away  his  own  for  it.  Sud- 
denly he  was  seen  on  the  edge  of  the  bank,  holding  one 
end  of  the  improvised  rope  in  his  hand.  As  Tosh  says — 

"  It  all  happened  in  the  opening  and  shutting  o'  an 
eye.  It's  a  queer  thing  to  say,  but  though  I  prayed  to 
God  to  take  awa  the  mist,  when  He  did  raise  it  I  couldna 
look.  I  shut  my  een  tight,  and  held  my  arm  afore  my 
face,  like  ane  feared  o'  being  struck.  Even  when  I 
daured  to  look,  my  arm  was  shaking  so  that  I  could  see 
Rob  both  above  it  and  below  it.  He  was  on  the  edge, 
crouching  to  leap.  I  didna  see  wha  had  haud  o'  the 
other  end  o'  the  rope.  I  heard  the  minister  cry,  'No, 
Dow,  no!'  and  itgae  through  me  as  quick  as  a  stab  that 
if  Rob  jumped  he  would  knock  them  both  into  the  water. 
But  he  did  jump,  and  you  ken  how  it  was  that  he  didna 
knock  them  off." 

It  was  because  he  had  no  thought  of  saving  his  own 
life.  He  jumped,  not  at  the  island,  now  little  bigger 
than  the  seat  of  a  chair,  but  at  the  edge  of  it,  into  the 
foam,  and  with  his  arm  outstretched.  For  a  second  the 
hand  holding  the  rope  was  on  the  dot  of  land.  Gavin 
tried  to  seize  the  hand ;  Rintoul  clutched  the  rope.  The 
earl  and  the  minister  were  dragged  together  into  safety, 
and  both  left  the  water  senseless.  Gavin  was  never 
again  able  to  lift  his  left  hand  higher  than  his  head 
Dow's  body  was  found  next  day  near  the  school-house. 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

TALK  OF  A  LITTLE  MAID  SINCE  GROWN  TALL 

MY  scholars  have  a  game  they  call  "  The  Little  Min- 
ister," in  which  the  boys  allow  the  girls  as  a  treat  to 
join.  Some  of  the  characters  in  the  real  drama  are 
omitted  as  of  no  importance — the  dominie,  for  instance 
— and  the  two  best  fighters  insist  on  being  Dow  and 
Gavin.  I  notice  that  the  game  is  finished  when  Dow 
dives  from  a  haystack,  and  Gavin  and  the  earl  are 
dragged  to  the  top  of  it  by  a  rope.  Though  there  should 
be  another  scene,  it  is  only  a  marriage,  which  the  girls 
have,  therefore,  to  go  through  without  the  help  of  the 
boys.  This  warns  me  that  I  have  come  to  an  end  of 
my  story  for  all  except  my  little  maid.  In  the  days 
when  she  sat  on  my  knee  and  listened  it  had  no  end, 
for  after  I  told  her  how  her  father  and  mother  were 
married  a  second  time  she  would  say,  "  And  then  I  came, 
didn't  I?  Oh,  tell  me  about  me!"  So  it  happened  that 
when  she  was  no  higher  than  my  staff  she  knew  more 
than  I  could  write  in  another  book,  and  many  a  time 
she  solemnly  told  me  what  I  had  told  her,  as — 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  tell  you  a  story?  Well,  it's 
about  a  minister,  and  the  people  wanted  to  be  bad  to 
him,  and  then  there  was  a  flood,  and  a  flood  is  lochs 
falling  instead  of  rain,  and  so  of  course  he  was  nearly 
drownded,  and  he  preached  to  them  till  they  liked  him 
again,  and  so  they  let  him  marry  her,  and  they  like  her 
awful  too,  and,  just  think!  it  was  my  father;  and  that's 
all.  Now  tell  me  about  grandmother  when  father  came 
home." 

94 


370  Sbe  Xittle  /Minister. 

I  told  her  once  again  that  Margaret  never  knew  how 
nearly  Gavin  was  driven  from  his  kirk.  For  Margaret 
was  as  one  who  goes  to  bed  in  the  daytime  and  wakes 
in  it,  and  is  not  told  that  there  has  been  a  black  night 
while  she  slept.  She  had  seen  her  son  leave  the  manse 
the  idol  of  his  people,  and  she  saw  them  rejoicing  as 
they  brought  him  back.  Of  what  occurred  at  the  Jaws, 
as  the  spot  where  Dow  had  saved  two  lives  is  now  called, 
she  learned,  but  not  that  these  Jaws  snatched  him  and 
her  from  an  ignominy  more  terrible  than  death,  for 
she  never  knew  that  the  people  had  meditated  driving 
him  from  his  kirk.  This  Thrums  is  bleak  and  perhaps 
forbidding,  but  there  is  a  moment  of  the  day  when  a 
setting  sun  dyes  it  pink,  and  the  people  are  like  their 
town.  Thrums  was  never  colder  in  times  of  snow  than 
were  his  congregation  to  their  minister  when  the  Great 
Rain  began,  but  his  fortitude  rekindled  their  hearts. 
He  was  an  obstinate  minister,  and  love  had  led  him  a 
dance,  but  in  the  hour  of  trial  he  had  proved  himself  a 
man. 

When  Gavin  reached  the  manse,  and  saw  not  only  his 
mother  but  Babbie,  he  would  have  kissed  them  both; 
but  Babbie  could  only  say,  "She  does  not  know,"  and 
then  run  away  crying.  Gavin  put  his  arm  round  his 
mother,  and  drew  her  into  the  parlor,  where  he  told 
her  who  Babbie  was.  Now  Margaret  had  begun  to  love 
Babbie  already,  and  had  prayed  to  see  Gavin  happily 
married ;  but  it  was  a  long  time  before  she  went  upstairs 
to  look  for  his  wife  and  kiss  her  and  bring  her  down. 
"  Why  was  it  a  long  time?"  my  little  maid  would  ask, 
and  I  had  to  tell  her  to  wait  until  she  was  old,  and  had 
a  son,  when  she  would  find  out  for  herself. 

While  Gavin  and  the  earl  were  among  the  waters, 
two  men  were  on  their  way  to  Mr.  Carfrae's  home,  to 
ask  him  to  return  with  them  and  preach  the  Auld  Licht 
kirk  of  Thrums  vacant ;  and  he  came,  though  now  so 
cjone  that  he  had  to  be  wheeled  about  in  a  little  coach. 


ot  a  Xittle  /fcato.  371 

He  came  in  sorrow,  yet  resolved  to  perform  what  was 
asked  of  him  if  it  seemed  God's  will;  but,  instead  of 
banishing  Gavin,  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  remarry  him 
and  kirk  him,  both  of  which  things  he  did,  sitting  in 
his  coach,  as  many  can  tell.  Lang  Tammas  spoke  no 
more  against  Gavin,  but  he  would  not  go  to  the  mar- 
riage, and  he  insisted  on  resigning  his  eldership  for  a 
year  and  a  day.  I  think  he  only  once  again  spoke  to 
Margaret.  She  was  in  the  manse  garden  when  he  was 
passing,  and  she  asked  him  if  he  would  tell  her  now 
why  he  had  been  so  agitated  when  he  visited  her  on  the 
day  of  the  flood.  He  answered  gruffly,  "  It's  no  busi- 
ness o'  yours."  Dr.  McQueen  was  Gavin's  best  man. 
He  died  long  ago  of  scarlet  fever.  So  severe  was  the 
epidemic  that  for  a  week  he  was  never  in  bed.  He  at- 
tended fifty  cases  without  suffering,  but  as  soon  as  he 
had  bent  over  Hendry  Munn's  youngest  boys,  who  both 
had  it,  he  said,  "I'm  smitted,"  and  went  home  to  die. 
You  may  be  sure  that  Gavin  proved  a  good  friend  to 
Micah  Dow.  I  have  the  piece  of  slate  on  which  Rob 
proved  himself  a  good  friend  to  Gavin ;  it  was  in  his 
pocket  when  we  found  the  body.  Lord  Rintoul  returned 
to  his  English  estates,  and  never  revisited  the  Spittal. 
The  last  thing  I  heard  of  him  was  that  he  had  been 
offered  the  Lord-Lieutenantship  of  a  county,  and  had 
accepted  it  in  a  long  letter,  in  which  he  began  by  point- 
ing out  his  unworthiness.  This  undid  him,  for  the 
Queen,  or  her  councillors,  thinking  from  his  first  page 
that  he  had  declined  the  honor,  read  no  further,  and 
appointed  another  man.  Waster  Lunny  is  still  alive, 
but  has  gone  to  another  farm.  Sanders  Webster,  in  his 
gratitude,  wanted  Nanny  to  become  an  Auld  Licht,  but 
she  refused,  saying,  "  Mr.  Dishart  is  worth  a  dozen  o* 
Mr.  Duthie,  and  I'm  terrible  fond  o'  Mrs.  Dishart,  but 
Established  I  was  born  and  Established  I'll  remain 
till  I'm  carried  out  o'  this  house  feet  foremost." 

"But  Nanny  went  to  Heaven  for  all  that,"  my  little 


872  ttbe  Xittle 

maid  told  me.  "Jean  says  people  can  go  to  Heaven 
though  they  are  not  Auld  Lichts,  but  she  says  it  takes 
them  all  their  time.  Would  you  like  me  to  tell  you  a 
story  about  my  mother  putting  glass  on  the  manse  dike? 
Well,  my  mother  and  my  father  is  very  fond  of  each 
other,  and  once  they  was  in  the  garden,  and  my  father 
kissed  my  mother,  and  there  was  a  woman  watching 
them  over  the  dike,  and  she  cried  out — something 
naughty." 

" It  was  Tibbie  Birsa,"  I  said,  "and  what  she  cried 
was,  'Mercy  on  us,  that's  the  third  time  in  half  an  hour!' 
So  your  mother,  who  heard  her,  was  annoyed,  and  put 
glass  on  the  wall. " 

"  But  it's  me  that  is  telling  you  the  story.  You  are 
sure  you  don't  know  it?  Well,  they  asked  father  to  take 
the  glass  away,  and  he  wouldn't;  but  he  once  preached 
at  mother  for  having  a  white  feather  in  her  bonnet,  and 
another  time  he  preached  at  her  for  being  too  fond  of 
him.  Jean  told  me.  That's  all." 

No  one  seeing  Babbie  going  to  church  demurely  on 
Gavin's  arm  could  guess  her  history.  Sometimes  I 
wonder  whether  the  desire  to  be  a  gypsy  again  ever 
comes  over  her  for  a  mad  hour,  and  whether,  if  so, 
Gavin  takes  such  measures  to  cure  her  as  he  threatened 
in  Caddam  Wood.  I  suppose  not;  but  here  is  another 
story : 

"  When  I  ask  mother  to  tell  me  about  her  once  being 
a  gypsy  she  says  I  am  a  bad  'quisitive  little  girl,  and 
to  put  on  my  hat  and  come  with  her  to  the  prayer- 
meeting;  and  when  I  asked  father  to  let  me  see 
mother's  gypsy  frock  he  made  me  learn  Psalm  forty- 
eight  by  heart.  But  once  I  see'd  it,  and  it  was  a  long 
time  ago,  as  long  as  a  week  ago.  Micah  Dow  gave  me 
rowans  to  put  in  my  hair,  and  I  like  Micah  because  he 
calls  me  Miss,  and  so  I  woke  in  my  bed  because  there 
was  noises,  and  I  ran  down  to  the  parlor,  and  there  was 
my  mother  in  her  gypsy  frock,  and  my  rowans  was  in 


Salh  of  a  little  flbafO.  873 

her  hair,  and  my  father  was  kissing  her,  and  when  they 
saw  me  they  jumped;  and  that's  all." 

"Would  you  like  me  to  tell  you  another  story?  It  is 
about  a  little  girl.  Well,  there  was  once  a  minister 
and  his  wife,  and  they  hadn't  no  little  girls,  but  just 
little  boys,  and  God  was  sorry  for  them,  so  He  put  a 
little  girl  in  a  cabbage  in  the  garden,  and  when  they 
found  her  they  were  glad.  Would  you  like  me  to  tell 
you  who  the  little  girl  was?  Well,  it  was  me,  and, 
ugh !  I  was  awful  cold  in  the  cabbage.  Do  you  like 
that  story?" 

"Yes;  I  like  it  best  of  all  the  stories  I  know." 
"  So  do  I  like  it,  too.     Couldn't  nobody  help  loving 
me,  'cause  I'm  so  nice?     Why  am  I  so  fearful  nice?" 
"  Because  you  are  like  your  grandmother. " 
"  It  was  clever  of  my  father  to  know  when  he  found 
me  in  the  cabbage  that  my  name  was  Margaret.     Are 
you  sorry  grandmother  is  dead?" 

"  I  am  glad  your  mother  and  father  were  so  good  to 
her  and  made  her  so  happy. " 
"  Are  you  happy?" 
"Yes." 

"  But  when  I  am  happy  I  laugh. " 
"  I  am  old,  you  see,  and  you  are  young. " 
"  I  am  nearly  six.     Did  you  love  grandmother?    Then 
why  did  you  never  come  to  see  her?     Did  grandmother 
know  you  was  here?     Why  not?     Why  didn't  I  not 
know  about  you  till  after  grandmother  died?" 
"I'll  tell  you  when  you  are  big." 
"  Shall  I  be  big  enough  when  I  am  six?'' 
"No,  not  till  your  eighteenth  birthday." 
"  But  birthdays   comes    so  slow.      Will   they  come 
quicker  when  I  am  big?" 
"    Much  quicker." 

On  her  sixth  birthday  Micah  Dow  drove  my  little 
maid  to  the  school-house  in  the  doctor's  gig,  and  she 
crept  beneath  the  table  and  whispered — 


374  ttbe  xittlc  Minister. 

"Grandfather!" 

"Father  told  me  to  call  you  that  if  I  liked,  and  I 
like,"  she  said  when  I  had  taken  her  upon  my  knee. 
"  I  know  why  you  kissed  me  just  now.  It  was  because 
I  looked  like  grandmother.  Why  do  you  kiss  me  when 
I  look  like  her?" 

"  Who  told  you  I  did  that?" 

"  Nobody  didn't  tell  me.  I  just  found  out.  I  loved 
grandmother  too.  She  told  me  all  the  stories  she 
knew." 

"  Did  she  ever  tell  you  a  story  about  a  black  dog?" 

"  No.     Did  she  know  one?" 

"  Yes,  she  knew  it. " 

"  Perhaps  she  had  forgotten  it?" 

"No,  she  remembered  it." 

"Tell  it  to  me." 

"  Not  till  you  are  eighteen. " 

"But  will  you  not  be  dead  when  I  am  eighteen? 
When  you  go  to  Heaven,  will  you  see  grandmother?" 

"Yes." 

"  Will  she  be  glad  to  see  you?" 

My  little  maid's  eighteenth  birthday  has  come,  and 
I  am  still  in  Thrums,  which  I  love,  though  it  is  beau- 
tiful to  none,  perhaps,  save  to  the  very  done,  who  lean 
on  their  staves  and  look  long  at  it,  having  nothing  else 
to  do  till  they  die.  I  have  lived  to  rejoice  in  the  hap- 
piness of  Gavin  and  Babbie :  and  if  at  times  I  have  sud- 
denly had  to  turn  away  my  head  after  looking  upon 
them  in  their  home  surrounded  by  their  children,  it  was 
but  a  moment's  envy  that  I  could  not  help.  Margaret 
never  knew  of  the  dominie  in  the  glen.  They  wanted 
to  tell  her  of  me,  but  I  would  not  have  it.  She  has 
been  long  gone  from  this  world ;  but  sweet  memories 
of  her  still  grow,  like  honeysuckle,  up  the  white  walls 
of  the  manse,  smiling  in  at  the  parlor  window  and  beck- 
oning from  the  door,  and  for  some  filling  all  the  air 
with  fragrance.  It  was  not  she  who  raised  the  barrier 


Ealft  of  a  Hittlc  /ftaiO.  87* 

between  her  and  me,  but  God  Himself;  and  to  those 
who  maintain  otherwise,  I  say  they  do  not  understand 
the  purity  of  a  woman's  soul.  During  the  years  sho 
was  lost  to  me  her  face  ever  came  between  me  and  un- 
generous thoughts ;  and  now  I  can  say,  all  that  is  carnal 
in  me  is  my  own,  and  all  that  is  good  I  got  from  her. 
Only  one  bitterness  remains.  When  I  found  Gavin  in 
the  rain,  when  I  was  fighting  my  way  through  the  flood, 
when  I  saw  how  the  hearts  of  the  people  were  turned 
against  him — above  all,  when  I  found  Whamond  in  the 
manse — I  cried  to  God,  making  promises  to  Him,  if  He 
would  spare  the  lad  for  Margaret's  sake,  and  He  spared 
him ;  but  these  promises  I  have  not  kept. 


THE   ENDt 


UC  SOUTHERN  REQONA1.  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     001  116805     1 


iniprmniflni 


